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By ROBERT HEINLEIN

19 41

r ^

wsss^ ’■

MAY -41

W HEN ugly flakes and scales begin to spec-k
your clothes, when your scalp begins to itch
annoyingly, it’s time to act — and act/asf/
Nature may be warning you that infectious
dandruff has set in . . . may be telling you to do
something about it before it gets any worse.

Start now with Listerine Antisejitic. Just douse
it on your scalp and hair morning and night
and follow with vigorous and persistent massage.

This is the simple medical treatment which has
shown such out.standing results in a substantial
majority of clinical test cases . . . the easy method
used by thousands in their own homes.

Li.sterine often brings quick improvement, be-
cause it gives both hair and scalp an antiseptic
bath. The loosened dandruff scales begin to
disappear. Your scalp feels healthier, more invig-
orated. And meanwhile, Listerine is killing
millions of germs on scalp and hair, including the
queer “bottle bacillus,’’ recognized by outstand-
ing authorities as a causative agent of the
infectious type of dandruff.

Clinical results of this simple, pleasant treat-
ment have been literally amazing. In one test,
7(1% of dandruff sufferers who used Listerine
and massage twice a day, within a month showed

complete disappearance of, or marked improve-
ment in, the .symi)toms.

If you’ve got the slighte.st symi>tom of this
trouble, don't waste aqj' time. You may have a
real infection, so begin today with Listerine
: Anti.septic and massagt-. To save yourself money,
buy the large economy-size bottle.

Lambeut Phau.macal Co., St . Louis. Mo.

THE TREATMENT
that brought improvement to
76% of cases in a clinical test

MEN: bouse full strength Listerine on the
scalp morning and nig^it. WOMEN: Part
hair at various places, and apply Listerine
right along the part with a m^icine drop-
per, to avoid wotting the hair excessively.

Always follow with vigorous and per-
sistent massage with fingers or a good hair
brush. Continue the treatment so long as
dandruff is in evidence. And even though
you’re free from dandruff, enjoy a Listerine
massage once a week to guard against in-
fection. Listerine Antiseptic is the same
antiseptic that has been famous for more
than 50 years as a mouth wash and gargle.

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AST— I

ASTOUNDING

SCIENCE-FICTION

TITLE REGISTERED U. S. PATENT OFFICE

CONTENTS MAY. 1941 VOL. XXVII NO. 3

The editorial contents of this magazine have not been published before, are
protected by copyright and cannot be reprinted without the publisher's permission.

NOVELEHES

UNIVERSE Robert Heinlein ... 9

A NOVA story which wins the award for its presentation of an unique
> and fascinating civilization in a spaceship that missed its goal!

VSOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY . . Anson MacDonald . . 56

This is a story of the very near and grimly probable future. Man’s
, apt to have that irresistible weapon soon — and no method of control!

V SHORT STORIES

'LIAR! Isaac Asimov ... 43

Herbie was a robot; he was also a mistake. Somewhere in assembly, an
accident made him telepathic, with inevitable and disturbing consequences!

V JAY SCORE Eric Frank Russell . . 88

Earthmen for rocket engineers and pilots, Martians for
repairmen, for they needed little air. But it took
' Jay Score’s leather-skinned breed for emergency work!

FISH STORY Vic Phillips and

Scott Roberts . . 101

Meet the Colonel, the human blotter with the almost-probahle tales to tell !

SUBCRUISER Harry Walton . . .109

The subspace boats were dangerous enough, without
the aid of a drunken skipper and a treasonous mate.

SERIAL

THE STOLEN DORMOUSE [Conclusion) L. Sprague de Camp . 130

In a slightly delirious world of the future where noble .Sir Busi-
nessman feuds, and the times are more than a little out of joint.

READERS’ DEPARTMENTS

THE EDITOR’S PAGE 5

IN TIMES TO COME 87

Department of Prophecy and Future Issues.

THE ANALYTICAL LABORATORY 87

An Analysis of Readers’ Opinions.

BRASS TACKS 123

Concerning Purely Personal Preferences.

Itiustrations by Kramer, Rogers and Schneeman.

COVER BY ROGERS

\ All stories in this magazine are fiction. No actual persons are designated

^ ^ \ either by name or character. Any similarity is coincidental.

\ Monthly publieation issued by Street & Smith Publieatiens, Incorporated, 79 Seventh Avenue, New
. ^ \ Vork City. Allen L. Crammer, President; Henry W. Ralston. Vice President; Gerald H. Smith,

\ Treasurer and Secretary. Copyright, 1941, in U. 8. A. and Great Britain by Street A Smith
\ Publications, Ine. Reentered as Second-class Matter, February 7, 1938, at the Post Office at New
^ . \ York, under Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. Subscriptions to Countries in Pan American Union,

- rO' \ $2.25 per year; olsewbera, $2.75 par year. Wa cannot accept responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts

^ eT ^ ^ artwork. Any material submitted must includo return postage.

^ Printed In the U. S. A.

STREET & SMITH PUBLICATIONS. INC. • 79 7th AVE.. NEW YORK

HISIORy TO COOlf

Fundamentally, science-fiction novels are “period pieces,” historical
novels laid against a background of a history that hasn’t happened yet. The
author of the more common type of historical novel, before he begins writ-
ing, spends hours, days or months — depending on his desire for reality of
background — studying about the period to be discussed. He studies the
manners of the times, the customs and the tools available, the means of
travel and the social and economic conflicts in the life of a man of the time.
Frequently a study of the period leads directly to the story — the plot
and action are logical outgrowths of the conflicts inherent in the times.
The author of the historical novel has at hand not only the material relat-
ing to that immediate period, but has available information on the forces
of social and economic and technical nature that produced it. Equally or
perhaps more important, he knows what his characters can not — ^the ulti-
mate outcome. He can see, and play up in his writmg, the obscure trends
of a selected era that carried hidden in them the seed of whole new histories
to come. Hindsight on such things is so apt to be markedly more brilliant
than the understanding of the time.

Now, basically, all those things should apply to science-fiction. True,
the history hasn’t happened yet — ^but that should mean simply that, in-
stead of library research into the past, the author can do mental, research
into possible future. The idea is simple enough. The problem is to do an
adequate, consistent, and interesting job on. it.

On Pages 124 and 125 of this issue. Astounding carries a graphical
extract from the Heinlein “History of Tomorrow.” Robert Heinlein’s sto-
ries have all been laid on that background, and, largely, are generated by
it. Heinlein is a Grade A writer to begin with, but by giving himself the
added help of a carefully worked out history, building up in his mind a pic-
ture of a world of tomorrow that’s “lived in,” his stories have achieved
manyfold greater reality — and done it a lot more easily.

The author that cooks up a special history of the future and a special
world of the future for each story never attains a “lived-in” world. It’s
always, somehow, like an interior decorator’s just-finished result. All the
chairs and tables and ash trays are there, and the lamps are lighted — but
it’s a stage setting, and stiff as the binding of an unread book. It needs
the rug pulled a little askew, and the ash trays with a few butts in them,
the cushions rumpled — to be lived in and enjoyed.

One-story “histories” tend to be that way. The tall buildings and air
cabs hang around on wires, and nobody leans out of the windows — and the
author has to work just as hard for as little result in cooking up the next
story’s background.

I suggested to Heinlein that he let me print a jjart of his “History” —

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

and finally got a piece of the big chart he works from. Heinlein is an engi-
neer — having been trained at Annapolis — and has studied and, moi'e im-
portant, practiced politics, psychology, and a number of other useful lines
of work. He was in a position to build up this history of things that might
well be.

In the first column are the dates; in the second, the titles of .stories
told and stories yet untold. “Universe” in the present issue does not fall
on this segment of the chart, though its beginnings are here. Regular
Astounding readers will recognize the other stories and most of the char-
acters who appear in the third column.

The vertical lines represent the life lines of the principal characters
mentioned in the various stories. The overlapping of lifetimes means that,
for instance, Harriman, who appeared in “Requiem,” was alive and active
during the struggle over atomic power plants told of in “Blowmps Happen.”

The third column of technological developments is extremely useful in
laying out stories. It suggests the means and methods available to a char-
acter in, say, a story laid in 2118, the things he would use and things he
w'ould not use any longer.

The political-social organization of the time, represented in Column 6,
is the fundamental necessity for nnderstanchng — and imagining — the reac-
tions of individuals of the time. “If This Goes On — ” and “Coventry” both
derived directly from considerations of the situation expressed in Col-
umns‘6 and 7.

Column 7, while also related to political and soqial status, bears more
on the trends, the long-term results based on things that may, at the time,
seem of lesser import.

On Page 123 the stories which have been told are listed, together w'ith
a brief item that may recall each one, and the dates of their original publi-
cation. The order of their publication has not, of course, been remotely
“chronological,” in terms of their places in the Heinlein History. “Life-
Line,” the first published, is the first on the chart; “Misfit,” the second pub-
lished, is dated about 2105, while the third published, “Requiem,” goes back
to 1990.

As to the stories still to be told, I know as little about them as you —
and Fm about as curious. I know he’s working on “While The Evil Days
Come Not,” and plotting on a sequel to the current “Universe.”

The Heinlein “History” starts with 1940. It might be of very real
interest to you to trace in on this suggestion for the future your own life
line. My own, I imagine, should extend up to about 1980 — a bit beyond
the time of “Roads Must Roll” and “Blowups Happen.” My children may
see the days of “The Logic of Empire.”

Where does your life line fall? Where will your children’s end?

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A NOVA story of the strangest world in
space — a world where men could not learn
the laws of Nature for they did not apply!

Illustrated by Rogers

“The Proxima Centauri Expedi-
tion, sponsored by the Jordan
roundation in 2119, was the first
recorded attempt to reach the nearer
stars of this galaxy. Whatever its
-unhappy fate, we can only conjec-
ture — ”

Quoted from “The Romance of

Modern Astrography,” by Franklin
Buck, published by Lux Transcrip-
tions, Ltd., S.50 cr.

“There’s a mutie! Look out!”

At the shouted warning Hugh
Hoyland ducked, with nothing to
spare. An egg-sized iron missile

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

dhauged Against the bulkhead just
above his scalp with force that prom-
ised a fractured skull. The speed
with whirls he crouched had lifted
bis feet from the floor plates. Be-
fore bis body could settle slowly to
the deck, he planted his feet against
the bulkhead behind him and shoved.
He went shooting down the passage-
way in a long, flat dive, his knife
drawn and ready.

He twisted in the air, checked
him-self with his feet against the op-
po.site bulkhead at the turn in the
passage from which the mutie had
attacked him, and floated lightly to
his feet. The other branch of the
passage was empty.

His two companions joined him,
sliding awkwardly over the floor
plates. “Is he gone.!*” demanded
Alan Mahoney.

“Yes,” ^eed Hoyland. “I
caught a glimpse of it as it ducked
down that hatch. A female, I think.
Looked like it had four legs.”

“Two legs, or four, we’ll never
catch it now,” commented the third
man.

“Who the Huff wants to catch it?”
protested Mahoney. “7 don’t.”
“Well, I do, for one,” said Hoy-
land. “By Jordan, if its aim had
been two inches better, I’d be ready
for the Converter.”

“Can’t either one of you tw’o speak
three words without swearing?” the
third man disapproved. “What if
the Captain could hear you?” He
touched his forehead reverently as
he -mentioned the Captain.

“Oh, for Jordan’s sake,” snapped
Hoyland, “don’t be so stuffy, Mort
Tyler. You’re not a scientist yet.
I reckon I’m as devout as you are
— there’s no grave sin in Occasionally
giving vent to your feelings. Even
the scientists do it. I’ve heard ’em.”
Tyler opened his mouth as if to

expostulate, then apparently thought
better of it.

Mahoney touched Hoyland on
the ann. “Look, Hugh,” he pleaded,
“let’s get out of here. WVve never
been this high before. I’m jumpy
— I want to get back down to where
I can fed some weight on my feet.”

Hoyland looked longingly tow’aj’d
the hatch through which his assail-
ant had disappeared while his hand
rested on the grip of his knife, then
he turned to Mahoney. “O. K.,
kid,” he agreed, “it’s a long trip
down anyhow.”

He turned and slithered back to-
ward the hatch whereby they had
reached the level where they now
were, the othei’ two following him.
Disregarding the ladder by which
they had mounted he stepped off into
the opening and floated slowly dow n
to the deck fifteen feet below, Tyler
and Mahoney close behind him. An-
other hatch, staggered a few feet
from the first, gave access to a still
lower deck. Dowm, down, down,
and still farther down they droppetl,
tens and dozens of decks, each silent,
dimly lighted, mysterious. Each
time they fdl a little faster, landed
a little harder. Mahoney protested
at last.

“Let’s walk the rest of the way,
Hugh. That last jmnp hurt my
feet.”

“All right. But it will take longer.
How far have we got to go. Any-
body keep count?”

“We’ve got about seventy decks
to go to reach farm country,” an-
swered Tyler.

“How do you know?” demanded
Mahoney suspiciously.

“I counted them, .stupid. And as
we came down I took one away for
each deck.”

“You did not. Nobotly but a
scientist can do numbering like that.
Just because you’re learning to read

UNIVERSE

and write you think you know every-
thing.”

Hoyland cut in before it could
develop into a quarrel. “Shut up,
Alan. Maybe he can do it. He’s
clever about such things. Anyhow
it feels like about seventy decks —
I’m heavy enough.”

“Maybe he’d like to count the
blades on my knife.”

“Stow it, I said. Dueling is for-
bidden outside the village. That is
the Rule.” They proceeded in si-
lence, running lightly down the
stairways until increasing weight on
each succeeding level forced them
to a more pedestrian pace. Pres-
ently they broke through into a level
that was quite brilliantly lighted
ami more than twice as deep between
decks as the ones above it. The air
was moist and warm; vegetation ob-
scured the view.

“Well, down at last,” said Hugh.
“I don’t recognize this farm; we must
have come down by a different line
than we went up.”

‘“I'here’s a farmer,” said Tyler.
He put his little fingers to his lips
and whistled, then called, “Hey!
Shipmate! Where are we?”

The peasant looked them over
slowly, then directed them in re-
luctant monosyllables to the main
j)assageway which would lead them
back to their own village.

A BiusK WALK of a mile and a half
down a wide tunnel moderately
crowded with traffic — travelers,

porters, an occasional pushcart, a
dignified scientist swinging in a lit-
ter borne by four husky orderlies
and preceded by his master at arms
to clear the common crew out of
riie way — a mile and a half of this
brought them to the common of
their own v’illage, a spacious com-
. partment three decks high and per-
haps ten times as wide. They split

up and went their own ways, Hugh
to his quarters in the barracks of
the cadets — young bachelors who
did not live with their parents —
washed himself, and went thence to
the compartments of his uncle, for
whom he worked for his meals. His
aunt glanced up as he came in, but
said nothing, as became a woman.

His uncle said, “Hello, Hugh.
Been e.xploring again?”

“Good eating, uncle. Yes.”

His untie, a stolid sensible man,
looked tolerantly amused. “Where
did you go and what did you find?”
Hugh’s aunt had slipi>cd silently
out of the compartment, and now
returned with his supiK?r which she
placed before him. He fell to — it
did not occur to him to thank her.
He munched a bite l>efore replying.

“Up. We climbed almo.st to the
level-of-no-weight. A. mutie triedi
to crack my .skull.”

His uncle chuckled. “You’ll find
your death in those passageways,Had.
Better you should pay more atten-
tion to my business against the day
when I’ll die and get out of your
way.” ,

Hugh looked stubborn. “Don’t
you have any curiosity, uncle?”
“Me? Oh, I was prying enough
when I was a lad. I followed the
main pa.ssage all the way arounrl
and back to the village. Right
through the Dark Sector I went, with
muties tagging my heels. See that

Hugh glanced at it perfunctorily.
He had .seen it many times before
and heard the story repeated to bore-
dom. Once around the Ship — pjui!
He wanted to go everywhere, see
everything, and find out the why of
things. Those upper levels now —
if men were not intended to climb
that high, why had Jordan created
them?

But he kept his own counsel and

1 «

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

went on with his meal. His uncle
changed the subject. “I’ve occa-
sion to visit the Witness. John Black
claims I owe him three swine. Want
to come along?”

“Why, no, I guess not — Wait —
I believe I will.”

“Hurry up, then.”

They stopped at the cadets’ bar-
racks, Hugh claiming an errand.

The Witness lived in a small, smelly
compartment directly across the
Common from the barracks, where
he would be readily accessible to
any who had need of his talents.
They found him sitting in his door-
way, picking his teeth with a finger-
' nail. His apprentice, a pimply-

. facetl adolescent with an intent

nearsighted expression, squatted be-
hind him.

“Gootl eating,” said Hugh’s un-
~ fie,

[ “Cootl eating to you, Edard Hoy-
i lan«l. D’you come on business, or
' to keep an old man company?”

“Both,” Hugh’s uncle returned
diplomatically, then explained his
r errand.

“So?” said the Witness. “Well—

■ the contract’s clear enough:

“Black John delivered ten buishels of oats.
Expecting his pay in a pair of shoats;

Ed brought his sow to breed for pig;
f John gets his pay when the pigs grow big.”

“How big are the pigs now, Edard
Hoyland?”

“Big enough," acknowledged
Hugh’s uncle, “but B]ack claims
three instead of two.”
i “Tell him to go soak his head.
‘The Witness has spoken.’ ” He
laughed in a thin, high cackle.

'i'he two gossiped for a few min-
f iites, Edard Hoyland digging into

his recent experiences to satisfy the
! old man’s insatiable liking for de-

; tails. Hugh kept decently silent

while the older men talked. But
when his uncle turned to go he spoke
up. “I’ll stay awhile, uncle.”

“Eh? Suit yourself. Good eating.
Witness.”

“Good eating, Edard Hoyland.”

“I’ve brought you a present. Wit-
ness,” said Hugh, when his uncle
had passed out of heading.

“Let me see it.”

Hugh produced a package of to-
bacco which he had picked up from
his locker at the barracks. The Wit-
ness accepted it without acknowl-
edgment, then tossed it to his ap-
prentice, who took charge of it.

“Come inside,” invited the Wit-
ness, then directed his speech to his
apprentice. “Here, you — fetch the
cadet a chair.”

“Now, lad,” he added as they sat
themselves down, “tell me what you
have been doing with yourself.”

Hugh told him, and was required
to repeat in detail all the incidents
of his more recent explorations, the
W’itness complaining the meanwhile
over his inability to remember ex-
actly everything he saw.

“You youngsters have no ca-
pacity,” he pronounced. “No ca-
pacity. Even that lout” — he jerked
his head toward the apprentice —
“he has none, though he’s a dozen
times better than you. Would you
believe it, he can’t soak up a thou-
sand lines a day, yet he expects to
sit in my seat when I am gone. Why,
when I was apprenticed, I used to
sing myself to sleep on a mere thou-
sand lines. Leaky vessels — that’s
what you are.”

Hugh did not dispute the charge,
but waited for the old man to go on?
which he did in his own time.

“You had a question to put to me,
lad?”

“In a way. Witness.”

UNIVERSE

“Well — out with it. Don’t chew
your tongue.”

“Did you ever climb all the way
up to no- weight?”

“Me? Of course not. I was a
Witness, learning my calling. I had
the lines of all the Witnesses before
me to learn, and no time for boyish
amusements.”

“I had hoped you could tell me
what I would find there.”

“Well, now, that’s another mat-
ter. I’ve never climbed, but I hold
the memories of more climbers than
you will ever see. I’m an old man.
I knew your father’s father, and his
grandsire before that. What is it
you want to know?

“Well — ” What was it he wanted
to know? How could he ask a ques-
tion that was no more than a gnaw-
ing ache in his breast. Still —

“What is it all for. Witness? ^^^ly
are there all those levels above us?”

“Eh? How’s that? Jordan’s name,
son — I’m a Witness, not a scien-
tist.”

“Well — I thought you must know,

1 9 99

m sorry.

“But I do know. What you want
is the Lines from the Beginning.”
“I’ve heard them.”

“Hear them again. All your an-
swers are in there, if you’ve the wis-
dom to see them. Attend me. No
— this is a chance for my appren-
tice to show off his learning. Here,
you! The Lines from the Beginning
— and mind your rhythm.”

The apprentice wet his lips with
his tongue and began:

“In the Beginning there, was Jordan, think-
ing His lonely thoughts alone.

In the Beginning there was darkness, form-
less, dead, and Man unknown.

Out of the loneness came a longing, out of
the longing came a vision.

Out of the dream there came a planning,
out of the plan there came decision —
Jordan's hand was lifted and the Ship was
bom!

“Mile after mile of snug compartments,
tank by tank for the golden corn.
Ladder and passage, door and locker, fit for
the needs of the yet unborn.

He looked on His work and found it pleas-
ing, meet for a race that was yet to be.
He thought of Man— Man came into being
—checked his thought and searched foe
the key.

]\Ian untamed would shame his Maker,
Man unruled would spoil the Plan;

So Jordan made the Regidations, orders to
each single man.

Each to a task and each to a station, serv-
ing a purpose beyond their ken.

Some to speak and some to listen — order
came to the ranks of men.

Crew He created to work at their stations,
scientists choose to guide the Plan.
Dver them all He created the Captain, made
him judge of the race of Man.

Thus it was in the Golden Age!

Jordan is perfect, all below him lack per-
fection in their deeds.

Envy, Greed and Pride of Spirit sought for
minds to lodge their seeds.

One there was who gave them lodging — ac-
cursed Huff, the first to sin!

His evil counsel stirred rebellion, planted
doubt where it had not been;

Blood of martyrs stained the floor plates,
Jordan’s Captain made the Trip.
Darkness swallowed up — ’’

The old man gave the boy the
back of his hand, sharp across the
mouth. “Try again!”

“From ihe beginning?”

“No! From where you missed.”
The boy hesitated, then caught
his stride:

“Darkness swallowed ways of virtue. Sin
prevailed throughout the Ship — ’’

The boy’s voice droned on, stanza
after stanza, reciting at great length
but with little sharpness of detail
the old, old story of sin, rebellion,
and the time of darkness. How wis-
dom prevailed at last and the bod-
ies of the rebel leaders were fed to
the Converter. How some of the
rebels escaped making the Trip and
lived to father the muties. How a

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

new Captain was chosen, after
prayer and sacrifice.

Hugh stirred uneasily, shufl3ing
his feet. No doubt the answers to
his questions were there, since these
were the Sacred Lines, but he had
not the wit to understand them.
Why? What was it all about? Was
there really nothing more to life
than eating and sleeping and finally
the long Trip? Didn’t Jordan intend
for him to understand? Then why
this ache in his breast? This hunger
that persisted in spite of good eat-
ing?

W’hile he was breaking his fast
after sleep an orderly came to the
door of his uncle’s compartments.
“The scientist requires the presence
of Hugh Hoyland,” he recited
glibly.

Hugh knew that the scientist re-
ferred to was Lieutenant Nelson, in
charge of the spiritual and physical
welfare of the Ship’s sector which
included Hugh’s native village. He
bolted the last of his breakfast and
hurried after the messenger.

“Cadet Hoyland!’’ he was an-
nounced. The scientist looked up
from his own meal and said:

“Oh, yes. Come in, my boy. Sit
down. Have you eaten?’’

Hugh acknowledged that he had,
but his eyes rested with interest on
the fancy fruit in front of his su-
perior. Nelson followed his glance.
“Try some of these figs. They’re a
new mutation — I had them brought
all the way from the far side. Go
ahead — a man your age always has
.somewhere to stow a few more
bites.”

Hugh accepted with much self-
con.sciousness. Never before had he
eaten in the presence of a scientist.
’Hie elder leaned back in his chair,
wiped his fingers on his shirt, ar-
ranged his beard, and started in.

“I haven’t seen you lately, son.
Tell me what you have been doing
with yourself.” Before Hugh could
reply he went on, “No, don’t tell
me — will tell you. For one thing
you have been exploring, climbing,
without Loo much respect for the
forbidden areas. Is it not so?” He
held the young man’s eye. Hugh
fumbled for a reply.

But he was let off again. “Never
mind. I know, and you know that
I know. I am not too displeased.
But it has brought it forcibly to my
attention that it is time that you
decided what you are to do with
your life. Have'you any plans?”
“Well — no definite ones, sir.”
“How about that girl, Edris Bax-
ter? D’you intend to marry her?”
“Why ... uh ... I don’t know,
sir. I guess I want to, and her
father is willing, I think. Only — ”
“Only what?”

“Well — ^he wants me to apprentice
to his farm. I suppose it’s a goo<i
idea. His farm together with my
uncle’s business would make a good
property.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“Well— I don’t know.”

“Correct. You’re not for that. I
have other plans. Tell me, have you
ever wondered why I taught j^ou to
read and write? Of course, j'ou
have. But you’ve kept your own
counsel. That is good.

“Now attend me. I’ve watched
you since you were a small child.
You have more imagination that
the common run, more curiosity,
more go. And you are a^ born
leader. You were different even as
a baby. Your head was too large
for one thing, and there were some
who voted at your birth inspection
to put you at once into the Con-
verter. But I held them off. I
wanted to see how you would turn
out.

rarvERSE

ir>

“A peasant life is not for the likes
of you. You are to be a scientist.”
The old man paused and studied
his face. Hugh was c6nfused,
speechless. Nelson went on, “Oh,
yes. Yes, indeed. For a man of
your temperament, there are only
two things to do with him: Make
him one of the custodians, or send
him to the Converter.”

“Do you mean, sir, that I have
nothing to say about it?”

“If you want to put it that bluntly
— yes. To leave the bright ones
among the ranks of the Crew is to
breed heresy. We can’t have that.
We had it once and it almost de-
stroyed the human race. You have
marked yourself out by your excep-
tional ability; you must now be in-
structed in right thinking, be initi-
ated into the mysteries, in order that
you may be a conserving force
rather than a focus of infection and
a source of trouble.”

The orderly reappeared loaded
down with bundles which he dumped
on the deck. Hugh glanced at them,
then burst out, “Why, those are my
things!”

“Certainly,” acknowledged Nel-
.son, “I sent for them. You're, to
sleep here henceforth. I’ll see you
later and start you on your studies
— unless you have something more
on your mind?”

“Why, no, sir, I guess not. I must
admit I am a little confused. I sup-
pose ... I suppose this means you
don’t want me to marry?”

“Oh, that,” Nelson answered in-
differently. “Take her if you like
— her father can’t protest now. But
let me warn you you’ll grow tired
of her.”

411

Hugh Hoyland devoured the an-
cient books that his mentor permit-
ted him to read, and felt no desire
for many, many sleeps to go climb-

ing, or even to stir out of Nelson’s
cabin. More than once he felt that
he was on the track of the secret —
a secret as yet undefined, even as
a question — but again he would find
himself more confused than ever. It
was evidently harder to reach the
wisdom of scientisthood than he had
thought.

Once, while he was worrying away
at the curious twisted characters of
the ancients and trying to puzzle out
their odd rhetoric and unfamiliar
terms. Nelson came into the little
compartment that had been set aside
for him, and, laying a fatherly hand

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

on his shoulder, asked, “How goes it,
"'boy?”

“Why, well endtigh, sir, I sOp-
))o.se,” he answered, laying the book
aside. “Some of it is not quite clear
to me — not clear at all, to tell the
truth.”

“That is to be expected,” the old
man said equably. “Tve let you
strug^e along by yourself at first
in order that you may see the traps
that native wit alone will fall into.
Many of these things are not to be
understood without instruction.
What have you there?” He picked
up the book and glanced at it. It
was in.scribed “Basic Modern
Physics.” So? This is one of the
most valuable of the sacred writings,
yet the uninitiate could not possibly
make good use of it without help.
The first thing that you must under-
stand, my boy, is that our fore-
fathers, for all their spiritual per-
fection, did not look at things in
the fa.shion in which we do.

“They were incurable romantics,
rather than rationalists, as we are,
and the truths which they handed
down to us, though strictly true,
were frequently clothed in allegorical
language. For example, have you
come to the Law of Gravitation?”

“1 read about it.”

“Did you understand it? No, I
can see that you didn’t.”

“Well,” said Hugh defensively, “it
didn’t seem to mean anything. It
ju.st sounded silly, if you will pardon
me, sir.”

“That illustrates my point. You
. were thinking of it in literal terms,
like the laws governing electrical de-
vices found elsewhere in this same
book. ‘Two bodies attract each
i)lher directly as the product of their
masses and inversely as the square
of their distance.’ It sounds like a
rule for simple physical facts, does
it not? Yet it is nothing of the sort;

it was the poetical way the old ones
had of expressing the rule of pro-
pinquity which governs the emotion
of love. The bodies referred to are
human bodies, mass is their, capj^city
for love. Young people have a
greater capacity for love than the
elderly; when they are thrown to-
gether, they fall in love, yet when
they are separated they soon get
over it. ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’
It’s as simple as that. But you were
seeking some deep meaning for it.”

Hugh grinned. “I never thought
of looking at it that way. I can see
that I am going to need a lot of
help.”

“Is there anything else bothering
you just now?”

“Well, yes, lots of things, though
I probably can’t remember them off-
hand. I mind one thing: Tell me,
father, can muties be considered as
being people?”

“I can see you have been listen-
ing to idle talk. The answer to that
is both yes and no. It is true that
the muties originally descended from
people but they are no longer part
of the Crew — they cannot now be
considered as members of the hu-
man race, for they have flouted Jor-
dan’s Law.

“This is a broad subject,” he went
on, settling down to it. “There is
even some question as to the origi-
nal meaning of the word ‘mutie.’
Certainly they number among their
ancestors the mutineers who escaped
death at the time of the rebellion.
But they also have in their blood
the blood of many of the mutants
who were born" during the dark age.
You understand, of course, that dur-
ing that period our present wise ride
of inspecting each infant for the
mark of sin and returning to the
Converter any who are found to be
mutations was not in force. There
are strange and horrible things crawl-

UNI\^RSE

ing through the dark passageways
and lurking in the deserted levels.”

Hugh thought about it for a
while, then asked, “Why is it that
mutations still show up among us,
the people?”

“That is simple. The seed of sin
is still in us. From time to time it
still shows up, incarnate. In de-
stroying those monsters we help to
cleanse the stock and thereby bring
closer the culmination of Jordan’s
Plan, the end of the Trip at our
heavenly home, far Centaurus.”

Hoyland’s brow wrjnkled again.
“That is another thing that I don’t
understand. Many of these ancient
writings speak of the Trip as if it
were an actual moving, a going-
somewhere — as if the Shi2> itself were
no more than a pushcart. How can
that be?”

Nelson chuckled. “How can it,
indeed? How can that move which
is the background against which all
else moves? The answer, of course,
is {)lain. You have again mistaken
allegorical language for the ordinary
usage of everyday speech. Of course,
the Ship is solid, immovable, in a
j)hysical sense. How can the whole
universe move? Yet, it does move,
in a spiritual sense. With every
righteous act we move closer to the
sublime destination of Jordan’s
plan.”

Hugh nodded. “I think I see.”

“Of course, it is conceivable that
Jordan could have fashioned the
world in some other shape than the
Ship, had it suited his purpose.
When man was younger and more
poetical, holy men vied with one an-
other in inventing fanciful worlds
which Jordan might have created.
One school invented an entire my-
thology of a topsy-turvy world of
endless reaches of space, empty save
for iiin points of light and bodyless

mythological monsters. They called
it the heavenly world, or heaven, as
if to contrast it with the solid reality
of the Ship. They seemed never to
tire of speculating about it, invent-
ing details for it, and of making pic-
tures of what they conceived it to
be like. I suppose they did it to the
greater glory of Jordan, and who is
to say that He found their dreams
unacceptable? But in this modern
age we have more serious work to
do.”

Hugh was not interested in as-
tronomy. Even his untutored mind
had been able to see in its wild ex-
travagance an intention not literal.
He returned to problems nearer at
hand. “Since the muties are the
seed of sin, why do we make no ef-
fort to wipe them out? Would not
that be an act that would speed the
Plan?”

The old man considered a while
before replying, “That is a fair ques-
tion and deserves a straight answer.
Since you are to be a scientist you
will need to know the answer. L^k
at it this way; There is a definite
limit to the number of Crew the Ship
can support. If our numbers in-
crease without limit, there comes a
time when there will not be good eat-
ing for all of us. Is it not better that
some should die in brushes with the
muties than that we should grow in
numbers until we killed each other
for food?

“The ways of Jordan are inscruta-
ble. Even the muties have a jjart in
his Plan.”

It seemed reasonable, but Hugh
was not sure.

But when Hugh was transferred
to active work as a junior scientist
in the operation of the Ship’s func-
tions, he found there were other
opinions. As was customary, he put
in a period sendng the Converter.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Hie work was not onerous, he had
principally to check in the waste ma-
terials brought in by porters from
each of the villages, keep books on
their contributions, and make sure
that no reclaimable metal was intro-
duced into the first-stage hopper.
But it brought him into contact with
Bill Ertz, the assistant chief engineer,
a man not much older than himself.

He discussed with him the things
he had learned from Nelson, and was
.shocked at Ertz’s attitude.

“Get this through your head, kid,”
Ertz told him. “This is a practical
job for practical men. Forget all
that romantic nonsense. Jordan’s
Plan! That stuff is all right to keep
the peasants quiet and in their place,
but don’t fall for it yourself. There
is no Plan — other than our own plans
for looking out for ourselves. The
Ship has to have light and heat and
power for cooking and irrigation.
Hie Crew can’t get along without
those things and that makes us boss
of the Crew.

“.^s for this soft-headed tolerance
toward the muties, you’re going to
see some changes made! Keep your
mouth shut and string along with
us.”

Tt impressed on him that he was
expected to maintain a primary
loyalty to the bloc of younger men
among the scientists. They were a
well-knit organization within an or-
ganization and were made up of
practical, hard-hedded men who
were working toward improvement
of conditions throughout the Ship,
as they saw them. They were well-
knit because an apprentice who
failed to see things their way did not
last long. Either he failed to meas-
ure up and soon found himself back
in the ranks of the peasants, or, as
was more likely, suffered some mis-
hap and wound up in the Converter.

And Hoyland began to see that
they were right.

They were realists. The Ship was
the Ship. It was a fact, requiring no
explanation. As for Jordan — who
had ever seen Him, spoken to Him?
\Yhat was this nebulous Plan of his?
The object of life was living. A man
was born, lived his life, and then
went to the Converter. It was as
simple as that, no mystery to it, no
sublime Trip and no Centaurus.
These romantic stories were simply
hangovers from the childhood of the
race before men gained the under-
standing and the courage to look
facts in the face.

He ceased bothering his head
about astronomy and mystical phy-
sics and all the other mass of my-
thology he had been taught to re-
vere. He was still amused, more or
less, by the Lines from the Beginning
and by all the old stories about
Earth — what the Huff was “Earth,”
anyhow? — but now realized that
such things could be taken seriously
only by children and dullards.

Besides, there was work to do.
The younger men, while still main-
taining the nominal authoritj' of
their elders, had plans of their own,
the first of which was a systematic
extermination of the muties. Be-
yond that, their intentions were still
fluid, but they contemplated making
full use of the resources of the Ship,
including the upper levels. The
young men were able to move ahead
with their plans without an open
breach with their elders because the
older scientists simply did not
bother to any great extent with the
routine of the Ship. T'he present
Captain had grown so fat that he
rarely stirred from his cabin; his
aide, one of the young men’s bloc,
attended to affairs for him.

Hoyland never laid eyes on the
Chief Engineer save once, when he

UNIVERSE

showed up for the purely religious
ceremony of manning landing sta-
tions.

The project of cleaning out the
muties required reconnaissance of
the upper levels to be done sys-
tematicallj". It was in carrying out
such scouting that Hugh Hoyland
was again ambushed by a mutie.

This mutie was more accurate
with his slingshot. Hoyland’s com-
panion, forced to retreat by superior
numbers, left him for dead.

JoE-JiM Gregory was playing
himself a game of checkers. Time
was when they had played cards to-
gether, but Joe, the head on the
right, had suspected Jim, the left-
hand member of the team, of cheat-
ing. They had quarreled about it,
then given it up, for they had both
learned early in their joint career
that two heads on one pair of shoul-
ders must necessarily find ways of
getting along together.

Checkers was better. They could
both see the board, and disagree-
ment was impossible.

A loud metallic knocking at the
door of the compartment interrupted
the game. Joe-Jim unsheathed his
throwing knife and cradled it, ready
for quick use. “Come in!” roared
Jim.

The door opened, the one who had
knocked backed into the room — ^the
only safe way, as everyone knew, to
enter Joe-Jim’s presence. TTie new-
comer was squat and ruggedly pow-
erful, not over four feet in height.
The relaxed body of a man hung
across one shoulder and was steadied
by a hand.

Joe-Jim returned the knife to its
sheath. “Put it down, Bobo,” Jim
ordered.

“ — And close the door,” added
Joe. “Now what have we got here?”

It was a young man, apparently

AST— 2

dead, though no w'ound appeared on
him. Bobo patted a thigh. “Eat
’im.?” he said hopefully. Saliva
spilled out of his still-opened lips.

“Maybe,” temporized Jim. “Did
you kill him?”

Bobo shook his undersized head.

“Good Bobo,” Joe approved.
“Where did you hit him?”

“Bobo hit him there.” The micro-
cephalic shoved a broad thumb
against the supine figure in the area
between the umbilicus and the breast
bone.

“Good shot,” Joe approved. “We
couldn’t have done better with a
knife.”

“Bobo good shot,” the dwarf
agreed blandly. “Want see?” He
twitched his slingshot invitingly.

“Shut up,” answered Joe, not un-
kindly. “No, we elon’t want to see;
we want to make him talk.”

“Bobo fix,” the short one agreed,
and started with simple brutality to
carry out his purpose.

Joe-Jim slapped him away, and
applied other methods, painful but
considerably less drastic than those
of the dwarf. The young mart jerkerl
and opened his eyes.

“Eat ’im?” repeated Bobo.

“No,” said Joe. “When did you
eat last?” inquired Jim.

Bobo shook his head and rubbed
his stomach, indicating with graphic
pantomine that it had been a long
time — too long. Joe-Jim went over
to a locker, opened it, and withdrew
a haunch of meat. He held it up,
Jim smelled it and Joe drew his head
away in nose- wrinkling disgust. Joe-
Jim threw it to Bobo, who snatched
it happily out of the air. “Now, get
out,” ordered Jim.

Bobo trotted away, closing the
door behind him. Joe-Jim turned to
the captive and prodded him wiUi
his foot. “Speak up,” said Jim,

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

“Who the Huff are 5'ou?”

The young man shivered, put a
hand to his head, then seemed sud-
denly to bring his surroundings into
focus, for he scrambled to his feet,
moving awkwardly against the low
weight conditions of this level, and
reached for his knife.

It was not at his belt.

Joe-Jim had his own out and
brandished it. “Be good and you
won’t get hurt. What do they call
you?”

The young man wet his lips, and
his eyes hurried about the room.
“Speak up,” said Joe.

“Why bother with him?” inquired
Jim. “I’d say he was only good for
meat. Better call Bobo back.”

“No hurry about that,” Joe an-
swered, “I want to talk to him.
What’s your name?”

The prisoner looked again at the
knife and muttered, “Hugh Hoy-
land.”

“That doesn’t tell us much,” Jim
commented. “What d’you do?
What village do you come from?
And what were you doing in mutie
country?”

But this time Hoyland was sullen.
FiVen the prick of the knife against
his ribs caused him only to bite his
lip. “Shucks,” said Joe, “he’s only
a stupid peasant. Let’s drop it.”
“Shall we finish him off?”

“No. Not now. Shut him up.”
Joe-Jim opened the door of a small
side compartment, and urged Hugh
in with the knife. He then closed
and fastened the door and went back
to his game. “Your move, Jim.”

The compartment in which Hugh
was locked was dark. He soon satis-
fied himself by touch that the
smooth steel walls were entirely fea-
tureless save for the solid, securely
fastened door. Presently he lay
down on the deck and gave himself
up to fruitless thinking.

He had plenty of time to think,
time to fall asleep and awaken more
than once. And time to grow very
hungry and very, very thirsty.

When Joe-Jim next took sufficient
interest in his prisoner to open the
door of the cell, Hoyland was not
immediately in evidence. He had
planned many times what he would
do when the door opened and his
chance came, but when the event ar-
rived, he was too weak, semicoma-
tose. Joe-Jim dragged him out.

The disturbance roused him to
partial comprehension. He sat up
and stared around him.

“Ready to talk?” asked Jim.

Hoyland opened his mouth but no
words came out.

“Can’t you see he’s too dry to
talk?” Joe told his twin. Then to
Hugh, “Will you talk if we give you
some water?”

Hoyland looked puzzled, then nod-
ded vigorously.

Joe-Jim returned in a moment
with a mug of water. Hugh drank
greedily, paused, and seemed about
to faint.

Joe-Jim took the mug from him.
“That’s enough for now,” said Joe.
“Tell us about yourself.”

Hugh did so. In detail, being
prompted from time to time.

Hugh accepted a de jacto condi-
tion of slavery with no particular re-
sistance and no great disturbance of
soul. The word “slave” was not in
his vocabulary, but the condition
was a commonplace in everything he
had ever known. There had always
been those who gave orders and
those who carried them out — he
could imagine no other condition, no
other type of social organization. It
was a fact of nature.

Though naturally he thought of
escape.

Thinking about it was as far as he

UNIVERSE

got. Joe-.Iim guessed his thoughts
and brought the matter out into the
open. Joe told him, “Don’t go get-
til?^ ideas, youngster. Without a
knife you wouldn’t get three levels
away in this part of the Ship. If
you managed to steal a knife from
me, you still wouldn’t make it down
to high-weight. Besides, there’s
Bobo.”

Hugh waited a moment, as was
fitting, then said, “Bobo.?”

Jim grinned and replied, “We told
Bobo that you were his to butcher,
if he liked, if you ever stuck your
head out of our compartments with-
out us. Now he sleeps outside the
door and spends a lot of his time
there.”

“It was only fair,” put in Joe. “He
was disappointed when we decided
to keep you.”

“Say,” sugge.sted Jim, turning his
head toward his brother’s, “How
about some fun?” He turned back
to Hugh. “Can you throw a knife?”
“Of course,” Hugh answered.
“Let’s see you. Here.” Joe-Jim
handed him their own knife. Hugh
accepted it, jiggling it in his hand to
try its balance. “Try my mark.”
Joe-Jim had a plastic target set up
at the far end of the room from his
favorite chair, on which he was wont
to practice his own skill. Hugh eyed
it, and, with an arm motion too fast
to follow, let fly. He used the eco-
nomical underhand stroke, thumb
on the blade, fingers together.

The blade shivered in the target,
well centered in the chewed-up area
which marked Joe-Jim ’s best efforts.

“Good boy!” Joe approved.
“What do you have in mind, Jim?”
“Let’s give him the knife and see
how far he gets.”

“No,” said Joe, “I don’t agree.”
“Why not?”

“If Bobo wins, we’re out one serv-

ant. If Hugh wins, we lo.se both
Bobo and him. It’s wa.steful.”

“Oh, well — if you insist.”

“I do. Hugh, fetch the knife.”
Hugh did so. It had not occurred
to him to turn the knife against Joe-
Jim. The master was the master.
For servant to attack master was
not simply repugnant to good mor-
als, it was an idea so wild that it
did not occur to him at all.

Hugh had expected that Joe-Jim
would be impres.sed by his learning
as a scientist. It did n«»t work out
that way. Joe-Jim, especially Jim,
loved to argue. They sucked Hugh
dry in short order and figuratively
cast him aside. Hoyland felt humili-
ated. After all, was he not a scien-
tist? Could he not read and write?

“Shut up,” Jim told him. “Head-
ing is simple. I could do it before
your father was born. D’you think
you’re the first scientist that has
served me? Scientists — bah! A
pack of ignoramuses!”

In an attempt to re-establi.sh his
own intellectual conceit, Hugh ex-
pounded the theories of the younger
scientists, the strictly matter-of-fact,
hard-boiled realism which rejected
all religious interpretation and took
the Ship as it was. He confidently
expected Joe-Jim to approve such a
point of view, it seemed to fit their
temperaments.

They laughed in his face.

“Honest,” Jim insistetl, when he
had ceased snorting, “are you young
punks so stupid as all that? Why,
you’re worse than your elders.”

“But you just got through say-
ing,” Hugh protested in hurt tones,
“that all our accepted religious no-
tions are so much bunk. That is just
what my friends think. They want
to junk all that old nonsense.”

Joe started to speak; Jim cut in

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

ahead of- liini. “Why bother with
him, Joe? He’s hopeless.”

“i\o, he’s not. I’m enjoying this.
He’s tlie first one I’ve talked with in
I don’t know how long who stood
any chance at all of seeing the truth.
Let us be — I want to see whether
that’s a head he has on his shoulders,
or just a place to hang his ears.”

“O. K.,” Jim agreed, “but keep it
quiet. I’m going to take a nap.”
The left-hand head closed its eyes,
soon it was .snoring. Joe and Hugh
continued their discussion in whis-
pers.

“The trouble with you young-
sters,” he said, “is that if you can’t
understand a thing right off, you
think it can’t be true. The trouble
with your elders is anything they
didn’t understand they re-inter-
})reted to mean something else and
then thought thej' understood it.
None of you has tried believing clear
words the way they were written
and then tried to understand them
on that basis. Oh, no, you’re all too
bloody smart for that — if you can’t
.see it right off, it ain’t so — it must
mean something different.”

“What do you mean?” Hugh
asked suspiciously.

“Well, take the Trip, for instance.
What does it mean to you?”

“Well — to my mind, it doesn’t
mean anything. It’s just a piece of
nonsense to impress the peasants.”
“And what is the accepted mean-
ing?”

“Well — it’s where you go when
you die — or rather what you do.
You make the Trip to Centaurus.”
“And what is Centaurus?”

“It’s — mind you, I’m just telling
you the orthodox answers; I don’t
really believe this stuff — it’s where
you arrive when you’ve made the
Trip, a place where everybody’s
happy and there's always good eat-
ing.”

Joe snorted. Jim broke the
rhythm of his snoring, opened one
eye, and settled back again with a
grunt. “That’s just what I meain”
Joe went on in a lower whisper.
“You don’t use your head. Did it
ever occur to you that the Trip was
just what the old books said it was
— the Ship and all the Crew actually
going somewhere, moving?”

Hoyland thought about U- “You
don’t mean for me to take you seri-
ously. Physically, it’s an impossi-
bility. The Ship can’t go anywhere.
It already is everywhere. We can
make a Jrip through it, but the Trip
— that has to have a spiritual mean-
ing, if it has any.”

Joe called on Jordan to support
him. “Now, listen,” he said, “get
this through that thick head of yours.
Imagine a place a lot bigger than the
Ship, a lot bigger, with the Ship in-
side it — moving. D’you get it?”
Hugh tried. He tried very hard.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t
make sense,” he said. “There can’t
be anything bigger than the Ship.
There wouldn’t be any place for it
to be.”

“Oh, for Huff’s sake. Listen —
Outside the Ship, get that? Straight
down beyond the lowest level in
every direction. Emptiness out
there. Understand me?”

“But there isn’t anything below
the lowest level. That’s why it’s
the lowest level.”

“Look. If you took a knife and
started digging a hole in the floor of
the lowest level, where would it get
you?”

“But you can’t. It’s too hard.”
“But suppose you did and it made
a hole. Where would that hole go?
Imag-ine it.”

Hugh shut hi,, eyes and tried to
imagine digging a hole in the lowest
level. Digging — as if it were soft —
soft as cheese.

UNIVERSE

He began to get some glimmering
of a possibility, a possibility that was
unsettling, soul shaking. He was
falling, falling into a hole that he had
dug which had no levels under it.
He opened his eyes very quickly.
“That’s awful!” he ejaculated. “I
won’t believe it.”

Joe-Jim got up. “I’ll make you
believe it,” he said grimly, “if I have
to break your neck to do it.” He
strode over to the outer door and
opened it. “Bobo!” he shouted.
“Bobo!”

•Jim’s head snapped erect. “Wassa
matter.^ Wha’s going on.f*”

“We’re going to take Hugh to no-
weight.”

“What for?”

“To pound some sense into his
silly head.”

“Some other time.”

“No, I want to do it now.”

“All right, all right. No need to
shout. I’m awake now, anyhow.”

Joe- Jim Gregory was almost as
nearly unique in his, or their, mental
ability as he was in his bodily con-
struction., Under any circumstances
he would have been a dominant per-
sonality; among the muties it was
inevitable that he should bully them,
order them about, and live on their
services. Had he had the will-to-
power, it is conceivable that he could
have organized the muties to fight
and overcome the Crew proper.

But he lacked that drive. He was
by native temperament an intellec-
tual, a bystander, an observer. He
was interested in the “how” and the
‘ why,” but his will to action was
satisfied with comfort and conven-
ience alone.

Had he been bom two normal
twins and among the Crew, it is
likely that he would have drifted
into scientLsthood as the easiest and
most satisfactory answer to the

problem of living and as such would
have entertained himself mildly with
conversation and administration. As
it was, he lacked mental companion-
ship and had whiled away three gen-
erations reading and re-reading
books stolen for him by his stooges.

The two halves of his dual person
had argued and discussed what they
read, and had almost inevitably ar-
rived at a reasonably coherent the-
ory of histoiy and the physical world
— except in one respect, the concept
of fiction was entirely foreign to
them; they treated the novels that
had been provided for the Jordan ex-
pedition in exactly the same fashion
that they did text and reference
books.

This led to their one major differ-
ence of opinion. Jim regarded Allan
Quartermain as the greate.st man
who had ever lived; Joe held out for
John' Henry.

They were both inordinately fond
of poetry; they could recite page
after page of Kipling, and were
nearly as fond of Rhysling, “the
blind singer of the spaceways.”

Bobo backed in. Joc-Jim hooked
a thumb toward Hugh. “Look,”
said Joe, “he’s going out.”

“Now?” said Bobo happily, and
grinned, slavering.

“You and your stomach!” Joe an-
swered, rapping Bobo’s pate with his
knuckles. “No, you don’t eat him.
You and him — blood brothers. Get
it?”

“Not eat ’im?”

“No. Fight for him. He fights
for you.”

“O. K.” The pinhead shrugged
his shoulders at the inevitable.
“Blood brothers. Bobo know.”

“All right. Now we go up to the
place- where-everybody-flies. You go
ahead and make lookout.”

They climbed in single file, llie

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

dwarf running ahead to spot the lay
of the land, Hoyland behind him,
Joe-Jim bringing up the rear, Joe
with eyes to the front, Jim watching
their rear, head turned over his
shoulder.

Higher and higher they went,
weight slipping imperceptibly from
them with each successive deck.
They emerged finally into a level
l)eyond which there was no further
progress, no opening above them.
'I'he deck curved gently, suggesting
that the true shape of the space was
a giant cylinder, but overhead a
metallic expanse which exhibited a
similar curv^ature obstmcted the
view and prevented one from seeing
whether or not the deck in truth
curved back on itself.

There were no proper bulkheads;
great stanchions, so huge and squat
as to give an impression of excessive,
unnecessary strength, grew thickly
about them, spacing deck and over-
head evenly apart.

Weight was imperceptible. If one
remained quietly in one place, the
undetectable residium of weight
would bring the body in a gentle
drift down to the “floor,” but up and
down were terms largely lacking in
meaning. Hugh did not like it, it
made him gulp, but Bobo seemed de-
lighted bj' it and not unused to it.
He moved through the air like an
uncouth fish, banking off stanchion,
floor plate, and overhead as suited
his convenience.

JoE-JiM set a course parallel to
the common axis of the inner and
outer cylinders, following a passage-
way formed by the orderly spacing
of the stanchions. There were hand-
rails set along the passage, one of
which he followed like a spider on its
thread. He made remarkable speed,
which Hugh floundered to maintain.
In time, he caught the trick of the

easy, effortless, overhand pull, the
long coast against nothing but air
resistance, and the occasional flick of
the toes or the hand against the floor.
But he was much too bu.sy to tell
how far they went before they
stopped. Miles, he guessed it to be,
but he did not know.

When they did stop, it was be-
cause the passage had terminated.
A solid bulkhead, stretching away to
right and left, barred their way.
Joe-Jim moved along it to the right,
searching.

He found what he sought, a man-
sized door, closed, its presence dis-
tinguishable only by a faint crack
which marked its outline and a cur-
sive geometrical design on its sur-
face. Joe-Jim studied this and
scratched his right-hand head. The
two heads whispered to each other,
Joe-Jim raised his hand in an awk-
ward gesture.

“No, no!” said Jim. Joe-Jim
checked himself. “How’s that.^”
Joe answered. They whispered to-
gether again, Joe nodded, and Joe-
Jim again raised his hand.

He traced the design on the door
without touching it, moving his fore-
finger through the air perhaps four
inches from the surface of the door.
The order of succession in which his
finger moved over the lines of the
design appeared simple but certainly
not obvious.

Finished, he shoved a palm against
the adjacent bulkhead, drifted back
from the door, and waited.

A moment later there was a soft,
almost inaudible insufflation; the
door stirred and moved outward per-
haps six inches, then stopped. Joe-
Jim appeared puzzled. He ran his
hands cautiously into the open crack
and pulled. Nothing happened. He
called to Bobo. “Open it.”

Bobo looked the situation over,
with a scowl on his forehead which

UNIVERSE

«5

wrinkled almost to his crown. He
then placed his feet against the bulk-
head, steadying himself by grasping
the door with one hand. He took
hold of the edge of the door with
both hands, settled his feet firmly,
bowed his body and strained.

He held his breath, chest rigid,
back bent, sweat breaking out from
the effort. The great cords in his
neck stood out, making of his head
a misshapen pyramid. Hugh could
hear the dwarf’s joints crack. It was
easy to believe that he would kill
himself with the attempt, too stupid
to give up.

But the door gave suddenly, with
a plaint of binding metal. As the
door, in swinging out, slipped from
Bobo’s fingers, the unexpectedly re-
leased tension in his legs shoved him
heavily away from the bulkhead; he
plunged down the passageway, floun-
dering for a hand hold. But he was
back in a moment, drifting awk-
wardly through the air as he mas-
saged a cramped calf.

Joe- Jim led the way inside, Hugh
close behind him. “What is this
place.-*” demanded Hugh, his curi-
osity overcoming his servant man-
ners.

“The Main Control Room,” said
Joe. -

Main Control Room! The most
sacred and taboo place in the Ship,
its very location a forgotten mys-
tery. In the credo of the young men
it was nonexistent. The older scien-
tists varied in their attitude be-
tween fundamentalist acceptance
and mystical belief. As enlightened
as Hugh believed himself to be, the
very words frightened him. The
Control Room! Why, the very spirit
of Jordan was said to reside there.

He stopped.

Joe- Jim stopped and Joe looked

around. “Come on,” he said.
“What’s the matter.-*”

“Why . . . uh . . . uh— ”
“Speak up.”

“But . . . but this place is haunted
. . . this is Jordan’s — ”

“Oh, for Jordan’s sake!” protested
Joe, with slow exasperation. “I
thought you told me you young
punks didn’t take any stock in Jor-
dan.”

“Yes, but . . . but this is — ”
“Stow it. Come along, or I’ll have
Bobo drag you.” He turned away.
Hugh followed, reluctantly, as a man
climbs a scaffold.

They threaded through a pas-
sageway just wide, enough for two
to use the handrails abreast. The
passage curved in a wide-sweeping
arc of full ninety degrees, then
opened into the control room proper.
Hugh peered past Joe-Jim’s broad
shoulders, fearful but curious.

He stared into a well-lighted room,
huge, quite two hundred feet across.
It was spherical, the interior of a
great globe. The surface of the
globe was featureless, frosted silver.
In the geometrical center of the
sphere Hugh saw a group of appara-
tus about fifteen feet across. To his
inexperienced eye, it was completely
unintelligible; he could not have de-
scribed it, but he saw that it floated
steadily, with no apparent support.

Running from the end of the pas-
sage to the mass at the center of the
globe was a tube of metal lattice-
work, wide as the passage itself. It
offered the only exit from the pas-
sage. Joe-Jim turned to Bobo, and
ordered him to remain in the pas-
sageway, then entered the tube.

He pulled himself along it, hand
over hand, the bars of the lattice-
work making a ladder. Hugh fol-
lowed him, they emerged into the
mass of apparatus occupying the

2 «

ASTOUNDING SCIFA’CE-FICTION

center of tlie sphere. Seen close up,
the gear of the control station re-
-solved itself into its individual de-
tails, I)ut it, still made no sense to
him. He glanced away from it to
the inner surface of the globe which
surrounded them.

That was a mistake. The surface
of the globe, being featureless silvery
white, had nothing to lend it per-
spective. It might have been a hun-
dred feet away, or a thousand, or
many miles. He had never experi-
enced an unbroken height greater
than that between two decks, nor an
oj>en space larger than the village
common. He was panic-stricken,
scared out of wit, the more so in that
he did not know what it was he
feared. .But the ghost of long for-
gotten jungle ancestors jx>ssessed

him and chilled his stomach with the
basic primitive fear of falling.

He clutched at the control gear,
clutched at Joe-Jim.

Joe-Jim let him have one, hard
across the mouth with the Hat of
his hand. “What’s the matter witM
you?” growled Jim.

“I don’t know,” Hugh presently
managed to get out. “I don’t know,
but I don’t like this place. Let’s get
out of here!”

Jim lifted his eyebrows to Joe,
looked disgusted, and said, “We
might as well. That weak-bellied
baby will never understand anything
you tell him.”

“Oh, he’ll be all right,” Joe re-
plied, dismissing the matter. “Hugh,
climb into one of the chairs — there,
that one.”

In the meantime, Hugh’s eyes had
fallen on the tube whereby they had
reached the control center and had
followed it back by eye to the pas-
sage door. The sphere suddenly
shrank to its proper focus and the
worst of his panic was over. He
complied with the order, still trem-
bling, but able to obey.

The control center consisted of a
n’gid framework, made up of chairs,
or frames, to receive the bodies of
the operators, and consolidated in-
strument and report panels, mounted
in such a fashion as to be almost in
♦he laps of the operators, where they
were readily visible but did not ob-
struct the v'iew. The chairs had
high supporting sides, or arms, and
mounted in these arms were the con-
trols appropriate to each officer on
watch — but Hugh was not yet aware
of that.

He slid under the instrument panel
into his seat and settled back, glad
of its enfolding stability. It fitted
him in a semireclining position, foot-
rest to head support.

uni\t:rse

But something was happening on
the panel in front of Joe-Jim; he
caught it out of the corner of his
eye and 'turned to look. Bright-
red letters glow-ed near the top of
the board: 2ND ASTROGATOR

POSTED. What was a second as-
trogator.? He didn’t know — then he
noticed that the extreme top of his
own board was labeled 2ND AS-
TROGATOR and concluded it must
be himself, or rather, the man who
should be sitting there. He felt mo-
mentarily uncomfortable that the
proper second astrogator might
come in and find him usurping his
post, but he put it out of his mind —
it seemed unlikely.

But what was a second astrogator,
anyhow?

The letters faded from Joe-Jim’s
board, a red dot appeared on the
left-hand edge and remained. Joe-
Jim did something with his right
hand; his board reported: ACCEL-
ERATION-ZERO, then MAIN
DRIVE. The last two words
blinked several times, then were re-
placed with NO REPORT. These
words faded out, and a bright-green
dot appeared near the right-hand
edge.

“Get ready,” said Joe, looking to-
ward Hugh, “the light is going out.”

“You’re not going to turn out the
light?” protested Hugh.

“No — you are. Take a look by
your left hand. See those little white
lights?”

Hugh did so, and found, shining
up through the surface of the chair
arm, eight bright little beads of light
arrang^ in two squares, one above
the other.

“Each one controls the light of one
quadrant,” explained Joe. “Cover
them with your hand to turn out the
light. Go ahead — do it.”

Reluctantly, but fascinated, Hugh
did as he was directed. He placed a

palm over the tiny lights, and
waited. The silvery sphere turned
to dull lead, faded still more, leaving
them in darkness complete save for
the slight glow from the instrument
panels. Hugh felt nervous but ex-
hilarated. He withdrew his palm,
the sphere remained dark, the eight
little lights had turned blue.

“Now,” said Joe, “I’m going to
show you the stars!”

In the darkness, Joe-Jim’s right
hand slid over another pattern of
eight lights.

Creation.

Faithfully reproduced, shining as
steady and serene from the walls of
the stellarium as did their originals
from the black deeps of space, the
mirrored stars looked down on him.
Light after jeweled light, scattered in
careless bountiful splendor across the
simulacrum sky, the countless suns
lay before him — before him, over
him, under him, behind him, in every
direction from him. He hung alone
in the center of the stellar universe.

“Oooooh!” It was an involuntary
sound, caused by his indrawn breath.
He clutched the chair arms hard
enough to break fingernails, but he
was not aware of it. Nor was he
afraid at the moment; there was
room in hfs being for but one emo-
tion. Life within the Ship, alter-
nately harsh and workaday, had
placed no strain on his innate ca-
pacity to experience beauty; for the
first time in his life he knew the in-
tolerable ecstasy of beauty unal-
layed. It shook him and hurt him,
like the first trembling intensity of
sex.

It was some time before Hugh
sufficiently recovered from the shock
and the ensuing intense preoccupa-
tion to be able to notice Jim’s sai-
donic laugh, Joe’s dry chuckle. “Had
enough?” inquired Joe. Without

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

waiting for a reply, Joe-Jim turned
the lights back on, using the dupli-
cate controls mounted in the left
arm of his chair.

Hugh sighed. His chest ached and
his heart pounded. He realized sud-
denly that he had been holding his
breath the entire time that the lights
had been turned out. “Well, smart
boy,” asked Jim, “are you con-
vinced.'*”

Hugh sighed again, not knowing
why. With the lights back on, he
felt safe and snug again, but was
possessed of a deep sense of personal
loss. He knew, subconsciously, that,
having seen the stars, he would never
be happy again. ITie dull ache in
his breast, the vague inchoate yearn-
ing for his lost heritage of open sky
and stars was never to be silenced,
even though he was yet too ignorant
to be aware of it at the top of his
mind. “What was it?” he asked in
a hushed voice.

“That’s it,” answered Joe. “That’s
the world. That’s the universe.
That’s what I’ve been trying to tell
you about.”

Hugh tried furiously to force his
inexperienced mind to comprehend.
“That’s what you mean by Outside?”
he asked. “Alt those beautiful little
lights?”

“Sure,” said Joe, “only they aren’t
little. They’re a long way ofiF, you
see — maybe thousands of miles.”
“What?”

“Sure, sure,” Joe persisted.
“There’s lots of room out there.
Space. It’s big. Why, some of those
stars may be as big as the Ship —
maybe bigger.”

Hugh’s face was a pitiful study in
overstrained imagination. “Bigger
than the Ship?” he repeated. “But
. . . but — ”

Jim tossed his head impatiently
and said to Joe, “Wha’ d’ I tell you?

You’re wasting our time on this lunk.
He hasn’t got the capacity — ”

“Easy, Jim,” Joe answered mildly,
“don’t expect him to run before he
can crawl. It took us a long time.
I seem to remember that you were a
little slow to believe your own eyes.”
“That’s a lie,” said Jim nastily.
“You were the one that had to be
convinced.”

“O. K., 0. K.,” Joe conceded, “let
it ride. But it was a long time be-
fore we both had it all straight,”
Hoyland paid little attention to
the exchange between the two broth-
ers. It was a usual thing; his atten-
tion was centered on matters de-
cidedly not usual. “Joe,” he asked,
“what became of the Ship while we
were looking at the stars? Did we
stare right through it?”

“Not exactly,” Joe told him.
“You weren’t looking directly at the
stars at all, but at kind of a picture
of them. It’s like — Well, they do
it with mirrors, sort of. I’ve got a
book that tells about it.”

“But you can see ’em directly,”
volunteered Jim, his momentary
pique forgotten. “There’s a com-
partment forward of here—”

“Oh, yes,” put in Joe, “it slipped
my mind. The Captain’s veranda.
’S got one wall of glass; you can look
right out.”

“The Captain’s veranda? But — ”
“Not this Captain. He’s never
been near the place. That’s the
name over the door of the compart-
ment.”

“What’s a ‘veranda’?”

“Blessed if I know. It’s just the
name of the place.”

“W^ill you take me up there?”

Joe appeared to be about to agree,
but Jim cut in. “Some other time.
I want to get back — ^I’m hungry.”
They passed back through the
tube, woke up Bobo, and made the
long trip back down.

UNIVERSE

It was long before Hugh could
persuade Joe-Jim to take him ex-
ploring again, but the time interven-
ing was well spent. Joe-Jim turned
him loose on the largest collection of
books that Hugh had ever seen.
Some of them were copies of books
Hugh had seen before, but even these
he read with new meanings. He read
incessantly, his mind soaking up new
ideas,' stumbling over them, strug-
gling, striving to grasp them. He
begrudged sleep, he forgot to eat un-
til hi? breath grew sour and com-
pelling pain in his midriff forced him
to pay attention to his body. Hun-
ger satisfied, he would be back at it
until his head ached and his eyes re-
fused to focus.

Joe-Jim’s demands for service were
few. Although Hugh was never off
duty, Joe-Jim did not mind him
reading as long as he was within ear-
shot and ready to jump when called.
Playing checkers with one of the
pair when the other did not care to
play was the service which used up
the most time, and even this was not
a total loss, for, if the player were
Joe, he could almost always be di-
verted into a discussion of the Ship,
its history, its machinery and equip-
ment, the sort of people who had
built it and first manned it — and
their history, back on Earth, Earth
the incredible, that strange place
where people had lived on the out-
side instead of the inside.

Hugh wondered why they did not
fall off.

He took the matter up with Joe
and at last gained some notion of
gravitation. He never really under-
stood it emotionally — it was too
wildly improbable — but as an intel-
lectual concept he was able to ac-
cept it and use it, much later, in his
first vague glimmerings of the science
of ballistics and the art of astroga-
lion and ship maneuvering. And it

led in time to him wondering about
weight in the Ship, a matter that had
never bothered him before. The
lower the level the greater the weight
had been to his mind simply the or-
der of nature, and nothing to won-
der at. He was familiar with centri-
fugal force as it applied to sling-
shots. To apply it also to the whole
Ship, to think of the Ship as spinning
like a sling.shot and thereby causing
weight, was too much of a hurdle —
he never really believed it.

Jpe-Jim took him back once more
to the Control Room and showed
him what little Joe-Jim knew about
the manipulation of the controls and
the reading of the astrogation instru-
ments.

* The long-forgotten engineer-<le-
signers employed by the Jordan
Foundation had been instructe<l to
design a ship that would not — could
not — wear out, even though the Trip
were protracted beyond the expected
sixty years. They builded better
than they knew. In planning the
main drive engines and the auxiliary
machinery, largely automatic, which
would make the Ship habitable, and
in designing the controls necessary
to handle all machinery not entirely
automatic the very idea of moving
parts had been rejected. The en-
gines and auxiliary equipment
worked on a level below mechanical
motion, on a level of pure force, as
electrical transformers do. Instead
of push buttons, levers, cams, and
shafts, the controls and the machin-
ery they served were planned in
terrps of balance between static
fields, bias of electronic flow, circuits
broken or closed by a hand placed
over a light.

On this level of action, friction
lost its meaning, wear and erosion
took no toll. Had all hands been
killed in the mutiny, the Ship would
still have plunged on through space.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

still lighted, its air still fresh and
moist, its engines ready and waiting.
As it was, though elevators and con-
veyor belts fell into disrepair, dis-
use, and finally into the oblivion of
forgotten function, the essential ma-
chinery of the Ship continued its
automatic service to its ignorant hu-
man freight, or waited, quiet and
ready, for someone bright enough to
puzzle out its key.

Genius had gone into the build-
ing of the Ship. Far too huge to be
assembled on Earth, it had been put
together piece by piece in its own
orbit out beyond the Moon. There
it had swung for fifteen silent years
while the problems presented by the
decision to make its machinery fool-
proof and enduring had been formu-
lated and solved. A whole new field
of sub-molar action had been con-
ceived in the process, struggled with,
and conquered.

So — • When Hugh placed an un-
tutored, questing hand over the first
of a row of lights marked ACCEL-
ERATION, POSITIVE, he got an
immediate response, though not in
terms of acceleration. A red light
at the top of the chief pilot’s
board blinked rapidly and the an-
mmciator panel glowed with a mes-
sage: MAIN ENGINES— NOT

MANNED.

“AVhat does that mean?” he asked
Joe-Jim.

“There’s no telling,” said Jim.
“We’ve done the same thing in the
main engine room,” added Joe.
“There, when you try it, it says
‘Control Iloom Not Manned.’ ”

Hugh thought a moment. “What
would happen,” he persisted, “if all
the control stations had somebody
at 'em at once, and then I did that?”

“Can’t say,” said Joe. “Never
been able to try it.”

Hugh said nothing. A resolve
which had been growing, formless, in

his mind was now crystallizing into
decision. He was busy with it.

He waited until he found Joe-
Jim in a mellow mood, both of him,
before broaching his idea. J'hey
were in the Captain’s veranda at the
time Hugh decided the moment was
ripe. Joe'-Jim rested gently in the
Captain’s easy-c'hair, his belly full
of food, and gazed out through the
heavy glass of the view port at the
serene stars. Hugh floated beside
him. The spinning of the' Ship
caused the stars to appear to move
in stately circles.

Presently he said, “Joe-Jim — ”
“Eh? What’s tlvat, youngster?”
It was Joe who had replied.

“It’s pretty swell, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“All that. The stars.” Hugh in-
dicated the view through the jjort
with a sweep of his arm, then caught
at the chair to stop his own back
spin.

“Yeah, it sure is. Makes you feel
good.” Surprisingly it was Jim who
offered this.

Hugh knew the time was right.
He waited a moment, then said,
“Why don’t we finish the .job?”

Two heads turned simultaneously,
Joe leaning out a little to see pasf
Jim. “What job?”

“The Trip. Why don’t we start
up the main drive and go on with it.
Somewhere out there,” he said hur-
riedly to finish before he was inter-
rupted, “there are planets like Earth
— or so the First Crew thought.
Let’s go find them.”

Jim looked at him, then laughed.
Joe shook his head slowly. “Kid,”
he said, “you don’t know what you
are talking about. You’re as balmy
as Bobo. No,” he went on, “that’s
all over and done with. Forget it.”
“Why is it over and done with,
Joe?”

UNIVERSE

“Well, because — It’s too big a
job. It takes a crew that under-
stands what it’s all about, trained to
operate the Ship.’’

“Does it take so many.-’ You have
only shown me alx)ut a dozen places,
all told, for men to actually be at the
controls. Couldn't a dozen men run
the Ship — if they knew what you
know,’’ he added slyly.

Jim chuckled. “He’s got you,
Joe. He’s right.’’

Joe brushed it aside. “You over-
rate our knowledge. Maybe we
could operate the Ship, but we
wouldn’t get anywhere. We don’t
know where we are. JTie Ship has
been drifting for I don’t know how
many generations. We don’t know
where we’re headed, or how fast
we’re going.”

“But look,” Hugh pleaded, “there
are instruments. You showed them
to me. Couldn’t we learn how to use
them.^ Couldn’t yoti figure them out,
Jim, if you really wanted to.?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” Jim agi’eed.
“Don’t boast, Jim,” said Joe.

“I’m not boasting,” snapped Jim.
“If a Ihing’II work, I can figure it
out.”

“Humph!” said Joe.

Thk matter reste<l in delicate bal-
ance. Hugh had got them disagree-
ing among themselves — which was
what he wanted — with the less
tractable of the pair on his side.
Now, to consolidate his gain —

“I had an idea,” he .said quickly,
“to get you men to work with, Jim,
if you were able to train them.”
“What’s your idea,” demanded
Jim suspiciously.

“Well, you remember what I told
you about a bunch of the younger
scientists — ”

“Those fools!”

“Yes, yes, sure — but they don’t
know what you know. In their way

they were trying to be reasonable.
Now, if I could go back down and
tell them what you’ve taught me, I
could get you enough men to work
with.”

Joe cut in. “Take a good look at
us, Hugh. What do you see.*”

“I\Tiy . . . why ... I see you —
Joe-Jim.”

“You see a mutie,” corrected Joe,
his voice edged with sarcasm. “We’re
a mutie. Get that? Your scientists
won’t work with us.”

“No, no,” protested Hugh, “that’s
not true. I’m not talking about
peasants. Peasants wouldn’t under-
stand, but these are scientists, and
the smartest of the lot. They’ll un-
derstand. All you’ll need to do is to
arrange safe conduct for them
through mutie country. You can do
that, can’t you?” he added, instinc-
tively shifting the point of the argu-
ment to firmer ground.

“Why, sure,” said Jim.

“Forget it,” said Joe.

“Well, O. K.,” Hugh agreed, sens-
ing that Joe really was annoyed at
his persistence, “but it would be
fun — ” He withdrew some distance
from the brothers.

He could hear Joe-Jim continuing
the discussion with himself in low
tones. He pretended to ignore it.
Joe-Jim had this essential defect in
his joint nature: Being a commit-
tee, rather than a single individual,
he was hardly fitted to be a man of
action, since all decisions were neces-
sarily the result of discussion and
compromise.

Several moments later Hugh heard
Joe’s voice raised. “All right, all
right — have it your own way!” He
then called out, “Hugh! Come
here!”

Hugh kicked himself away from
an adjacent bulkhead and shot over
to the immediate vicinity of Joe-Jim,
arresting his flight with both hands

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

against the framework of the Cap-
tain's chair.

“We’ve decided,” said Joe with-
out preliminaries, “to let you go back
down to high-weight and try to ped-
<lle your goods. But you’re a fool,”
he added sourly.

Bobo escorted Hugh down
through the dangers of the levels
frequented by muties and left him in
the uninhabited zone above high-
weight. “Thanks, Bobo,” Hugh said
in parting. “Good eating.” The
dwarf grinned, ducked his head, and
.sped away, swarming up the ladder
they had just descended.

Hugh turned and started down,
touching his knife as he did so. It
was good to feel it against him again.
Not that it was his original knife.
That had been Bobo’s prize w'hen he
was captured, and Bobo had been
unable to return it, having inadver-
tently left it sticking in a big one
that got away. But the replacement
Joe-Jim had given him was well bal-
anced and quite satisfactory.

Bobo had conducted him, at
Hugh’s request and by Joe- Jim’s or-
der, down to the area directly over
the auxiliary Converter used by the
.scientists. He wanted to find Bill
Ertz, assistant chief engineer and
leader of the bloc of younger scien-
tists, and he did not want to have to
answer too many questions before he
found him.

Hugh dropped quickly down the
remaining levels and found himself
in a main passageway which he rec-
ognized. Good! A turn to the left,
a couple of hundred yards’ walk, and
he found himself at the door of the
compartment which housed the Con-
verter. A guard lounged in front of
it, Hugh started to push on past,
was stopped. “Where do you think
you're going?”

“I want to find Bill Ertz,”

“You mean the Chief Engineer?
Well, he’s not here.”

“Chief? W’hat’s happened to the
old one?” Hoyland regretted the re-
mark at once — but it was already
out.

“Huh? The old Chief? Wy,he’s
made the Trip long since.” The
guard looked at him suspiciously.
“WTiat’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” denied Hugh. “Just a
slip.”

“Funny sort of a slip. Well, you’ll
find Chief Ertz around his office
probably.”

“Thanks. Good eating.”

“Good eating.”

Hugh was admitted to see Ertz
after a short wait. Ertz looked up
from his desk as Hugh came in.
“Well,” he said, “so you’re back, and
not dead after all. This is a surprise.
We had written you off, you know,
as making the Trip.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Well, sit down and tell me about
it — I’ve a little time to spare at the
moment. Do you know, though, I
wouldn’t have recognized you.
You’ve changed a lot — all that gray
hair. I imagine you had some pretty
tough times.”

Gray hair? Was his hair gray?
And Ertz had changed a lot, too,
Hugh now noticed. He was paunchy
and the lines in his face had set.
Good Jordan! How long had he been
gone?

Ertz drummed on his desk top,
and pursed his lips. “It makes a
problem — you coming back like this.
I’m afraid I can’t just assign you to
your old job; Mort Tyler has that.
But we’ll find a place for you, suit-
able to your rank.”

Hugh recalled Mort Tyler and not
too favorably. A precious .sort of a
chap, always concerned with what
was proper and according to regula-

UNIVERSE

S»

tion. So Tyler had actually made
scientisthood, and was on Hugh’s old
job at the Converter. Well, it didn’t
matter. “That’s all right,” he began,
“I wanted to talk to you about — ”

“Of course, there’s the matter of
.seniority,” Ertz went on. “Pefhaps
the council had better consider the
matter. I don’t know of a precedent.
We’ve lost a number of scientists to
the muties in the past, but you are
the first to escape with his life in my
memory.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Hugh
broke in. “I’ve something much
more pressing to talk about. While
I was away I found out some amaz-
ing things. Bill, things that it is of
paramount importance for you to
know about. That’s why I came
straight to you. Listen, I — ”

Ertz was suddenly alert. “Of
course you have! I must be slowing
down. You must have had a mar-
velous opportunity to study the mu-
ties and scout out their territory.
Come on, man, spill it! Give me
your report.”

Hugh wet his lips. “It’s not what
you think,” he said. “It’s much
more important than just a report
on the muties, though it concerns
them, too. In fact, we may have to
change our whole policy with respect
to the mu — ”

“Well, go ahead, go ahead! I’m
listening.”

“All right.” Hugh told him of his
tremendous discovery as to the actual
nature of the Ship, choosing his
words carefully and trying very hard
to be convincing. He dwelt lightly
on the difficulties presented by an
attempt to reorganize the Ship in
accordance with the new concept
and bore down heavily on the pres-
tige and honor that would accrue to
the man who led the effort.

He watched Ertz’s face as he
talked. After the first start of com-

plete surprise when Hugh launched
bis key idea, the fact that the Ship
was actually a moving body in a
great outside space, his face became
impassive and Hugh could read
nothing in it, except that he seemed
to detect a keener interest when
Hugh spoke of how Ertz was just the
man for the job because of his leader-
ship of the younger, more progressive
scientists.

When Hugh concluded, he waited
for Ertz’s response. Ertz said noth-
ing at first, simply continued with
his annoying habit of drumming on
the top of his desk. Finally he said,
“These are important matters. Hoy-
land, much too important to be dealt
with casually. I must have time to
chew it over.”

“Yes, certainly,” Hugh agreed, “I
wanted to add that I’ve made ar-
rangements for safe passage up to
no-weight. I can take you up and
let you see for yourself.”

“No doubt that is best,” Ertz re-
plied. “Well — are you hungry.'*”
“No.”

“Then we’ll both sleep on it. You
can use the compartment back of my
office. I don’t want you discussing
this with anyone else until I’ve had
time to think about it; it might cause
unrest if it got out without proper
preparation.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“Very well, then” — Ertz ushered
him into a compartment behind his
office which he very evidently used
for a lounge — “have a good rest,” he
said, “and we’ll talk later.”

“Thanks,” Hugh acknowledged.
“Good eating.”

“Good eating.”

Once he was alone, Hugh’s excite-
ment gradually dropped away from
him, and he realized that he was
fagged out and very sleepy. He

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

stretched out on a built-in couch and
fell asleep. ,

When he awoke he di.scovered that
the only door to the compartment
was barred from the other side.
Worse than that, his knife was gone.

He had waited an indefinitely long
time when he heard activity at the
door. It opened, two husky, unsmil-
ing men entered. “Come along,” said
one of them. He sized them up,
noting that neither of them carried a
knife. No chance to snatch one from
their belts, then. On the other hand
he might be able to break away from
them.

But beyond them, a wary distance
away in the outer room, were two
other equally formidable men, each
armed with a knife. One balanced
his for throwing, the other held his
by the grip, ready to stab at close
quarters.

He was boxed in and he knew it.
1'hey had anticipated his possible
moves.

He had long since learne<l to relax
before the inevitable. He composed
his face and marched quietly out.
Once through the door he saw Ertz,
waiting and quite evidently in charge
of the party of men. He spoke to
him, being careful to keep his voice
calm. “Hello, Bill. Pretty exten-
sive preparations you’v'e made. Some
trouble, maybe.^”

Flrtz seemed momentarily uncer-
tain of his answer, then said, “You’re
going before the Captain.”

“Goocj!” Hugh answered.
“Thanks, Bill. But do you think it’s
wise to try to sell the idea to him
without laying a little preliminary
foundation with the others?”

Ertz was annoyed at his apparent
thick-headedness and showed it.
“You don’t get the idea,” hegrowled;
“you’re going before the Captain to
stand trial — for heresy!”

Hugh considered this as if the idea

had not before occurred to him. He
answered mildly, “You’re off down
the wrong passage. Bill. Perhaps a
charge and trial is the best way to
get at the matter, but I’m not a
peasant, simply to be hustled before
the Captain. I must be tried by the
council. I am a .scientist.”

“Are you now?” Ertz said softly.
“I’ve had advdce about that. You
were written off the lists. Just what
you are is a matter for the Captain
to determine.”

Hugh held his peace. It was
against him, he could see, and there
was no point in antagonizing Ert^.
Ertz made a signal; the two unarmed
men each grasped one of Hugh’s
arms. He went with them quietly.

Hugh looked at the Captain with
new interest. The old man had not
changed much — a little fatter, per-
haps.

The Captain settled himself slowly
down in his chair, and picked up the
memorandum before him. “What’s
this all about?” he began irritably.
“I don’t understand it.”

Mort Tyler was there to present
the case against Hugh, a circum-
stance which Hugh had had no way
of anticipating and which adder! to
his misgivings. He searched his boy-
hood recollections for some handle
by which to reach the man’s sym-
pathy, found none. Tyler cleared
his throat and commenced:

“This is the case of one Hugh
Hoyland, Captain, formerly one of
your junior scientists — ”

“Scientist, eh? Why doesn’t the
council deal with him?”

“Because he is no longer a scien-
tist, Captain. He went over to the
muties. He now returns among us,
preaching heresy and seeking to un-
dermine your authority.”

The Captain looked at Hugh with
the ready belligerency of a man jeal-

UNIVERSE

oils of his prerogatives. “Is that so?”
he bellowed. “What have you to say
for yourself.^”

“It is not true, Captain,” Hugh
an.swere<i. “.\11 that I have said to
anyone has been an affirmation of
the absolute truth of our ancient
knowledge. I have not disputed the
truths under which we live; I have
simply affirmed them more forcibly
than is the ordinary custom. I — ”

“I still don’t understand this,” the
Captain interrupted, shaking his
head. “You’re charged with heresy,
yet you say you believe the Teach-
ings. If you aren’t guilty, why are
you here.®”

“Perhaps I can clear the matter
up,” put in Ertz. “Hoyland — ”
“W’ell, I hope you can,” the Cap-
tain went on. “Come — let’s hear it.”
Ertz proceeded to give a reason-
ably collect, but slanted, version of
Hoyland’s return and his strange
•story. The Captain listened, with
an expression that varied between
puzzlement and annoyance.

When Ertz had concluded the
Captain turned to Hugh. “Humph!”
he said.

Hugh spoke immediately. “The
gist of my contention. Captain, is
that there is a place up at no-weight
where you can actually see the truth
of our faith that the Ship is moving,
where you, can actually see Jordan’s
Plan in operation. That is not a
denial of faith; that affirms it. There
is no need to take my word for it.
Jordan Him.self will prove it.”
Seeing that the Captain appeared
to be in a state of indecision, Tyler
broke in:

“Captain, there is a possible ex-
planation of this incredible situation
which I feel duty bound that you
' should hear. Offhand, there are two
obvious interpretations of Hoyland’s
ridiculous story: He may simply be
guilty of extreme heresy, or he may
AST— 3

be ^ mutie at heart and engaged in
a scheme to lure you into Iheir
hands. But there is a third more
charitable explanation and one which
I feel within me is probably the true
one.

“There is record that Hoyland was
•seriously considered for the Con-
verter at his birth inspection, but
that his deviationjrom normal was
slight, being simply an overlarge
head, and he was passed. It seems
to me that the terrible experiences he
has undergone at the hands of the
muties has finally unhinged an un-
stable mind. The jxior chap is sim-
ply not responsible for his own ac-
tions.”

Hugh looked at Tyler with new
respect. To ab.solve him of guilt and
at the same time to make absolutely
certain that Hugh would wind up
making the Trip — how neat!

The Captain shook a jialm at
them. “This has gone on long
enough.” Then, turning to Ertz, “Is
there recommendation?”

“Yes, Captain. The Converter.”

“Very well, then. I really don’t
see, Ertz,” he continued testily, “why
I should be bothereil with these de-
tails. It seems to me that you should
be able to handle discipline in your
department without my helj).”

“Yes, Captain.”

The Captain shoved back from his
desk, started to get up. “Recom-
mendation confirmed. Di.smis.sed.”

Anger flooded through Hugh at
the unreasonable injustice of it.
They had not even considered look-
ing at the only real evidence he had
in his defense. He heard a shout, *
“Wait!” — then discovered it was his
own voice.

The Captain pairsed, looking at
him.

“Wait a moment,” Hugh went on,
his words spilling out of their own

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

accord. “This won’t make any dif-
ference, for you’re all so damn sure
you know all the answers that you
won’t consider a fair offer to come
see with your own eyes. Neverthe-
less —

“Nevertheless — it still moves!”

Hugh had plenty of time to
think, lying in- the compartment
where they confined him to await the
power needs of the Converter, time
to think, and to sewnd-guess his mis-
takes. Telling his tale to Ertz im-
mediately — that had been mistake
No. 1. He should have waited, be-
come reacquainted with the man and
felt him out, instead of depending
on a friendship which had never been
very close.

Second mistake, Mort Tyler.
When he heard his name he should
have investigated and found out just
how much influence the man had
with Ertz. He had known him of
old, he should have known better.

Well, here he was, condemned as a
mutant — or maybe as an heretic. It
came to the same thing. He consid-
ered whether or not he should have
tried to explain why mutants hap-
Ijened. He had learned about it him-
self in some of the old records in

Joe-Jim’s possession. No, it wouldn’t
wash. How could you explain about
radiations from the Outside causing
the birth of mutants when the listen-
ers did not believe there was such a
place as Outside.^ No, he had messed
it up before he was ever taken before
the Captain.

His self-recriminations were dis-
turbed at last by the sound of his
door being unfastened. It was too
soon for another of the infrequent
meals; he thought that they had
come at last to take him away, and
renewed his resolve to take someone
with him.

But he was mistaken. He heard
a voice of gentle dignity, “Son, Son,
how does this happen?” It was
Lieutenant Nelson, his first teacher,
looking older than ever and frail.

The interview was distressing for
both of them. The old man, child-
less himself, had cherished great
hopes for his protege, even the ambi-
tion that he might ev'entually aspire
to the captaincy, though he had kept
his vicarious ambition to himself, be-
lieving it not good for the young to
praise them too highly. It had hurt
his heart when the youth was lost.

Now he had returned, a man, but

UNIVERSE

under disgraceful conditions and un-
der sentence of death.

The meeting was no less unhappy
for Hugh. He had loved the old
man, in his way, wanted to please
him and needed his approval. But
he coidd see, as he told his story,
that Nelson was not capable of treat-
ing the story as anything but an ab-
erration of Hugh’s mind, and he sus-
pected that Nelson would rather see
him meet a quick death in the Con-
verter, his atoms smashed to hydro-
gen and giving up clean useful
power, than have him live to make a
mock of the ancient teachings.

In that he did the old man an in-
justice; he underrated Nelson’s
mercy, but not his devotion to
“science.” But let it be said for
Hugh that, had there been no more
at issue’ than his own personal wel-
fare, he might have preferred death
to breaking the heart of his benefac-
tor — being a romantic and more
than a bit foolish.

Presently the old man got up to
leave, the visit having grown unen-
durable to each of them. “Is there
anything I can do for you. Son? Do
they feed you well enough?”

“Quite well, thanks,” Hugh lied.
“Is there anything else?”

“No — yes, you might send me
■some tobacco. I haven’t had a chew
in a long time.”

“I’ll take care of it. Is there any-
one you would like to see?”

“Why, I was under the impression
that I was not permitted visitors —
ordinary visitors.”

“You are right, but I think per-
haps I may be able to get the rule
relaxed. But you will have to give
me your promise not to speak of your
heresy,” he added anxiously.

Hugh thought quickly. This was
a new aspect, a new possibility. His
uncle? No, while they had always
gotten along well, their minds did

not meet — they would greet ear’h
other as strangers. He had never
made friends easily; Ertz had been
his obvious next friend and now look
at the damned thing! Then he re-
called his village chum, Alan Ma-_
honey, with whom he had played as
a boy. True, he had seen practically
nothing of him since the time he was
apprenticed to Nelson. Still —
“Does Alan Mahoney, still live in
our village?”

“Why, yes.”

“I’d like to see him, if he’ll come.”

Alan arrived, nervous, ill at ease,
but plainly glad to see Hugh and
very much upset to find him under
sentence to make the Trip. Hugh
pounded him on the back. “Good
boy,” he said, “I knew you would
come.”

“Of course T would,” protested
Alan, “once I knew. But nobody in
the village knew it. I don’t think
even the Witness knew it.”

“Well, you’re here, that’s what
matters. Tell me about yourself.
Have you married?”

“Huh, uh, no. Let’s not waste
time talking about me. Nothing ever
happens to me, anyhow. How in
Jordan’s name did you get in this
jam, Hugh?”

“I can’t talk about that, Alan. I
promised Lieutenant Nelson that I
wouldn’t.”

“Well, what’s a promise — that
kind of a promise. You’re in a jam,
fellow.”

“Don’t I know it!’’

“Somebody have it in for you?”
“Well — our old pal Mort Tyler
didn’t help any; I think I can say
that much.”

Alan whistled and nodded his head
slowly. “That explains a lot.”
“How come? You know some-
thing?”

“Maybe, maybe not. After you

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

went away he married Edris Bax-
ter.”

“So.’ Hm-m-m — yes, that clears
i!f) a lot.” He remained silent for a
time.

Presently Alan spoke up; “Look,
Hu^h. You’re not going to sit here
and take it, are you? Particularly
with Tyler mixed in it. We gotta
get you outa here.”

“How.?”

“I don’t know. Pull a raid, maybe.
I guess I could get a few knives to
rally round and help us — all good
boys, spoiling for a fight.”

“Then, when it’s over, we’d all be
for the Converter. You, me, and
your pals. No, it won’t wash.”
“But we’ve got to do something.
We can’t just sit here and wait for
them to burn you.”

“I know that.” Hugh studied
Alan’s face. Was it a fair thing to
ask? He went on, reassured by what
he had seen. “Listen. You would do
anything you could to get me out of
this, wouldn’t you?”

“You know that.” Alan’s tone
showed hurt.

“^’^ery well, then. There is a dwarf
named Bobo. I’ll tell you how to
find him — ”

-Xlan climbed, up and up, higher
than he had ever been since Hugh
had led him, as a boy, into fool-
hardy peril. He was older now, more
conservative; he had no stomach for
it. 'I'o the very real danger of leav-
ing the well-traveled lower levels was
added his superstitious ignorance.
But still he climbed.

I'his should be about the place —
unless he had lost count. But he saw
nothing of the dwarf.

Bobo saw him first. A slingshot
load caught Alan in the pit of the
stomach, even as he was shouting,
“Bobo!”

Bobo backed into Joe-Jhn’s com-

partment and dumped his load at the
feet of the twins. “Fresh meat,” he
said proudly.

“So it is,” agreed Jim indifferently.
“Well, it’s yours; take it away.”

The dwarf dug a thumb into a
twisted ear. “Funny,” he said, “he
knows Bobo’s name.”

Joe looked up from the book he
was reading — Browning’s “Collected
Poems,” L-Press, New York, Lon-
don, Luna City, cr. 3/5 — ^“That’s in-
teresting. Hold on a moment.”

Hugh had prepared Alan for the
shock of Joe-Jim’s appearance. In
reasonably short order he collected
his wits sufficiently to be able to tell
his tale. Joe-Jim listened to it with-
out much comment, Bobo with inter-
est but little comprehension.

When Alan concluded, Jim re-
marked, “Well, you win, Joe. He
didn’t make it.” Then, turning to
Alan, he added, “You can take Hoy-
land’s place. Can you play check-
ers?”

Alan looked from one head to the
other. “But you don’t understand,”
he said. “Aren’t you going to do
anything about it?”

Joe looked puzzled. “Us? Why
should we?”

“But you’ve got to. Don’t you
see? He’s depending on you. There’s
nobody else he can look to. That’s
why I came. Don’t you see?”

“Wait a moment,” drawled Jim,
“wait a moment. Keep your belt
on. Supposing we did want to help
him — which we don’t — ^how in Jor-
dan’s Ship could we? Answer me
that.”

“\¥hy . . . why — ” Alan stum-
bled in the face of such stupidity.
“^Miy, get up a rescue party, of
course, and go down and get him
out!”

“Why should we get ourselves
killed in a fight to rescue your
friend?”

UNIYERSE

Bobo pricked his ears. “Fight?”
he inquired eagerly.

“No, Bobo,” Joe denied. “No
fight. Just talk.”

“Oh,” said Bobo and returned to
passivity. #

Alan looked at the dwarf. “If
you’d even let Bobo and me — ”
“No,” Joe said shortly. “It’s out
of the question. Shut up about it.”
Alan sat in a corner, hugging his
knees in despair. If only he could
get out of there. He could still try
to .stir up some help down below.
The dwarf seemed to be asleep,
though it was difficult to be sure with
him. If only Joe-Jim would sleep,
too.

Joe-Jim showed no indication of
sleepiness. Joe tried to continue
reading, but Jim interrupted him
from time to time. Alan could not
hear what they were saying.

Presently Joe raised his voice. “Is
that your idea of fun?” he demanded.

“Well,” said Jim, “it beats check-
ers.”

“It does, does it? Suppose you get
a knife in j our eye — where would I
be then?”

“You’re getting old, Joe. No juice
in you any more.”

“You're as old as I am.”

'“Yeah, but I got young ideas.”
“Oh, you make me sick. Have it
your own way — but don’t blame me.
Bobo!”

The dwarf sprang up at once,
alert. “Yeah, Boss.”

“Go out and dig up Squatty and
Long Ann and Pig.” Joe-Jim got
up, went to a locker, and started
pulling knives out of their racks.

Hugh heard the commotion in the
l>a.ssageway outside his prison. It
could be the guards coming to take
him to the Converter, though they-
probably wouldn’t be so noisy. Or
it could be just some excitement un-

related to him. On the other hand
it might be —

It was. The door burst open, and
Alan was inside, .shouting at him and
thrusting a brace of knives into his
hands. He was hurried out the door,
while stuffing the knives in his belt
and accepting two more.

Outside he saw Joe-Jim, who did

not see him at once, as he was me-
thodically letting fiy, as calmly as if
he had been engaging in target jirati
tice in his own study. And Bobo, who
ducked his head and grinned with a
mouth widened by a bleeding ciit,
but continued the easy flow of the
motion whereby he loaded and let
fly. There were three others, two

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

of whom Hugh recognized as belong-
ing to Joe-Jim’s privately owned
gang of bullies — inuties by definition
and birthplace; they were not de-
formed.

The count does not include still
forms on the floor plates.

“Come on!” yelled Alan. “There’ll
be more in no time.” He hurried
down the passage to the right.

Joe-Jim desisted and followed him.
Hugh let one blade go for luck at a
figure running away to the left. The
target was poor, and he had no time
to see if he had drawn blood. They
scrambled along the passage, Bobo
bringing up the rear, as if reluctant
to leave the fun, and came to a point
where a side passage crossed the
main one.

Alan led them to the right again.
“Stairs ahead,” he shouted.

They did not reach them. An air-
tight door, rarely used, clanged in
their faces ten yards .short of the
stairs. Joe-Jim’s bravoes checked
their flight and looked doubtfully at
their master. Bobo broke his thick-
ened nails trying to get a purchase
on the door.

The sounds of pursuit were clear
behind them.

“Boxed in,” said Joe softly. “I
hope you like it, Jim.”

Hugh saw a head appear around
the corner of the passage they had
quitted. He threw overhand but the
distance was too great; the knife
clanged harmlessly against steel.
The head disappeared. Long Arm
kept his eye on the sjx)t, his sling
loaded and ready.

Hugh grabbed Bolx)’s shoulder.
“Listen! Do you see that light?”

** The dwarf blinked stupidly. Hugh
pointed to the intersection of the
glowtubes where they crossed in the
overhead directly above the junction
of the pas.sages. “That light. Can
you hit them where they cross?”

Bobo measured the distance with
his eye. It would be a hard shot un-
der any conditions at that range.
Here, constricted as he was by the
low passageway, it called for a fa.st,
flat trajectory, and allowance for
higher weight than he was used to.

He did not answer. Hugh felt the
wind of his swing but did not see the
shot. There was a tinkling crash;
the passage became dark.

“Now!” yelled Hugh, and led them
away at a run. As they neared the
intersection he shouted, “Hold your
breaths! Mind the gas!” The radio-
active vapor poured lazily out from
the broken tube above and filled the
crossing with a greenish mist.

Hugh ran to the right, thankful for
his knowledge as an engineer of the
lighting circuits. He had picked the
right direction; the passage ahead
was black, being serviced from be-
yond the break. He could hear foot-
steps around him; whether they were
friend or enemy he did not know.

They burst into light. No one
was in sight but a scared and harm-
less peasant who scurried away at
an unlikely pace. They took a
quick muster. All were present, but
Bobo was making heavy going of it.

Joe looked at him. “He. sniffed
the gas, I think. Pound his back,”

Pig did so with a will. Bobo
belched deeply, was suddenly sick,
then grinned.

“He’ll do,” decided Joe.

The slight delay had enabled one
at least to catch up w'ith them.. He
came plunging out of the dark, un-
aware of, or careless of, the strength
against him. Alan knocked Pig’s
arm down, as he raised it to throw.

“Let me at ’im!” he demanded.
“He’s mine!”

It was Tyler.

“Man-fight?” Alan challenged,
'thumb on his blade.

Tyler’s eyes darted from adversary

UNIVERSE

to adversary and accepted the invi-
tation to individual duel by lunging
at Alan. The quarters were too
cramped for throwing; they closed,
each achieving his grab in parry, fist
to wrist.

Alan was stockier, probably
stronger; Tyler was slippery. He
attempted to give Alan a knee to
the crotch. Alan evaded it, stomped
on Tyler’s planted foot. They went
down. There was a crunching crack.

A moment later, Alan was wiping
his knife against his thigh. '"‘Let’s
get goin’,” he complained. “I’m
scared.’’

They reached a stairway, and
raced up it, Long Arm and Pig
ahead to fan out on each level and
cover their flanks, and the third of
the three choppers — Hugh heard
him called Squatty — covering the
rear. The others bunched in be-
tween.

Hugh thought they had won free
when he heard shouts and the clat-
ter of a thrown knife just above him.
He reached the level above in time
to be cut not deeply but jaggedly by
a ricocheted blade.

Three men w'ere down. Long Arm
had a blade sticking in the fleshy
part of his upper arm, but it did not
seem to bother him. His sling shot
was still spinning. Pig was scram-
bling after a thrown knife, his own
armament exhausted. But there
were signs of his work; one man was
down on one knee some twenty feet
away. He was bleeding from a knife
wound in the thigh.

As the figure steadied himself with
one hand against the bulkhead and
reached toward an empty belt with
the other, Hugh recognized him.

Bill Ertz.

He had led a party up another
way and flanked them, to his own
ruin. Bobo crowded behind Hugh

and got his mighty arm free for the
cast. Hugh caught at it. “Easy,
Bobo,’’ he directed. “In the stom-
ach, and easy.’’

The dwarf looked puzzled, but did
as he was told. Ertz folded over at
the middle and slid to the deck.

“Well placed,’’ said Jim.

“Bring him along, Bobo,’’ directed
Hugh, “and stay in the middle.’’ He
ran his eye over their party, now
huddled at the top of that flight of
stairs. “All right, gang — up we go
again! Watch it.”

Long Arm and Pig swarmed up
the next flight, the others disposing
themselves as usual. Joe looked an-
noyed. In some fashion — a fashion
by no means clear at the moment —
he had been eased out as leader of
this gang — his gang — and Hugh was
giving orders. He reflected that
there was no time now to make a
fuss. It might get them all killed.

Jim did not appear to mind. In
fact he seemed to be enjoying him-
self.

They put ten more levels behind
them with no organized opposition.
Hugh directed them not to kill pea-
sants unnecessarily. The three
bravoes obeyed; Bobo was too loaded
down with Ertz to constitute a
problem in disciplme. Hugh saw to
it that they put thirty-odd more
decks below them and were well into
no-raan’s-land before he let vigi-
lance relax at all. Then he called a
halt and they examined wounds.

The only deep ones were to Long
Arm’s arm and Bobo’s face. Joe-Jim
examined them and applied presses
with which he had outfitted himself
before starting. Hugh refused treat-
ment for his flesh wound. “It’s
stopped bleeding,” he insisted, “and
I’ve got a lot to do.”

“You’ve got nothing to do but to

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

get up home,” said Joe, “and that
will he an end to this foolishness.”
“Not quite,” denied Hugh. “You
may be going home, but Alan and
I and Bobo are going up to no-
weight — to the Captain’s veranda.”
“Nonsense,” said Joe. “\Miat
for?”

“Come along if you like, and see.
All right, gang. Let’s go.”

Joe started to speak, stopped when
Jim kept still. Joe-Jim followed
along.

They floated gently through the
door of the veranda, Hugh, Alan,
Bobo with his still passive burden —
and Joe-Jim. “That’s it,” said Hugh
to Alan, waving his hand at iJie
splendid stars, “that’s what I’ve been
telling you about.”

-Alan looked and clutched at
Hugh's arm. “Jordan!” he moaned.

THE

“We’ll fall out!” He closed his
eyes tightly.

Hugh shook him. “It’s all right,”
he said. “It’s grand. Open your
eyes.” *

Joe-Jim touched Hugh’s arm.
“What’s it all about?” he demanded.
Why did you bring him up here?”
He pointed at Ertz.

“Oh — him. W’ell, when he wakes
up I’m going to show him the stars,
prove to him that the Ship moves.”
“Well? What for?”

“Th^n I’ll send him back down to
convince some others.”

“Hm-m-m — suppose he doesn’t
have any better luck than you had?”
“Why, then” — Hugh shrugged his
shoulders — ^“why then we shall just
have to do it all over, I suppose, till
we do con\dnce them.

“W'e’v'e got to do it, you know.”

END.

UNKNOWN ANNOUNCES A BOOK

Unknown, Astounding’s companion fantasy magazine, printed L.
Sprague de Camp’s novel, “Lest Darkness Fall,” a while back. Now, in a
somewhat expanded version, Henry Holt & Co. has it out in book form.

“Lest Darkness Fall” is a “Connecticut Yankee” type yarn, in basis,
but with the prime difference that it’s logical. It doesn’t go in for sow’s-ear
silk purses, so to speak. Martin Padway, American and twentieth-century
archaeologist, is dropped back into the declining days of the Roman Empire
with all the tools, gadgets and what not in his pockets or on his person.
I'liey amount to a fountain pen and a wrist watch. Question is, at first,
not so much, “What could a modern man, with modern knowledge, do in
Rome?” but, “How can a man chisel out enough cash to eat?”

He can’t make machine guns, however much he’d like to, without the
machines to make the machine tools that make the machine-gun-making
machines. Not being an expert chemist, physicist, physician, engineer, met-
allurgist and die maker combined, Martin Padway has diflSculties in a me-
chanical way. He also has difficulties with the local religious authorities.
The political authorities don’t like his ways. The trade guilds don’t like him.

And Padway doesn’t like the idea that the Dark Ages are soon to come.
He wants to keep darkness from falling. And, principally, he doesn’t like
being drawn and quartered, or otherwise eliminated.

Told by de Camp, it makes a lovely yarn. If you read it in Unknown,
you already know it’s good; the expanded version includes more de Camp-
isms the magazine couldn’t. They make it worth reading in themselves.

Bookstores have it — it’s $2.50.

By Isaac llsimov

A beautifully logical tale of a robot
who simply couldn't tell the truth!

IHustrated by Schneeman

Alfred Lanning lit his cigar care- “It reads minds all right — damn
fully, but the tips of his fingers were little doubt about tluvt! But why?”
tiembling slightly. His gray eye- He looked at Mathematician Peter
brows hunched low as he spoke be- Bogert, “Well?”
tween puft's. Bogert flattened his black hair

ASTOUNDING SCIENCEiFICTION"

down with both hands, “That was
the thirty-fourth RB model we’ve
turned out, Lanning. All the others
were strictly orthodox.”

The third man at the table
frowned. Milton Ashe was the
youngest officer of U. S. Robot &
Mechanical Men, Inc., and proud of
his post. t

“Listen, Bogert. There wasn’t a
hitch in the assembly from start to
finish. I guarantee that.”

Bogert’s thick lips spread in a
patronizing smile, “Do you? If you
can answer for the entire assembly
line, I recommend your promotion.
By exact count, there are seventy-
five thousand, two hundred and
thirty-four oi>erations necessary for
the manufacture of a single posi-
tronic brain, each separate operation
depending for successful completion
upon any number of factors, from
five to a hundred and five. If any
one of them goes seriously wrong,
the ‘brain’ is ruined. I quote our
own infonnation folder, Ashe.”
Milton Ashe flushed, but a fourth
voice cut «ff his reply.

“If we’re going to start by trying
to fix the blame on one another,
I’m leaving.” Susan Calvin’s hands
were folded tightly in her lap, and
the little lines about her thin, pale
lips deepened, “We’ve got a mind-
reading robot on our hands and it
strikes me as rather important that
we find out just u'hy it reads minds.
We’re not going to do that by say-
ing, ‘Your fault! My fault!’ ”

Her cold gray eyes fastened upon
Ashe, and he grinned.

Lanning grinned too, and, as al-
ways at such times, his long white
hair and shrewd little eyes made him
the picture of a biblical patriarch,
“True for you. Dr. Calvin.”

His voice became .suddenly crisp,
“Here’s everything in pill-concen-
trate form. We’ve produced a posi-

tronic brain of sujjposedly ordinary
vintage that’s got the remarkable
property of being able to tune in on
thought waves. It would mark the
most important advance in robotics
in decades, if we knew how it hap-
pened. We don’t, and we have to
find out. Is that clear?”

“May I make a suggestion?”
asked Bogert.

“Go ahead!’*

“I’d say that until we do figure
out the mess — and as a mathemati-
cian I expect it to be a very devil of
a mess — we kiep the e.xistence of
RB 34 a secret. I mean even from
the other members of the staff. As
heads of the departments, we ought
not to find it an insoluble problem,
and the fewer know about it — ”

“Bogert is right,” said Dr. Calvin.
“Ev^er since the Interplanetary Code
was modified to allow robot models'
to be tested in the plants before be-
ing shipped out to space, anti-robot
propaganda has increased. If any
word leaks out about a robot beinff
able to read minds before we can
announce complete control of the
phenomenon, Tyrone and his dema-
gogues could make pretty effective
capital out of it.”

Lanning sucked at his cigar and
nodded gravely. He turned to Ashe,
“I think you said you were atone
when you first stumbled on this
thought-reading business.”

“I’ll say I was alone — I got the
scare of my life. RB 34 had just
been taken off the assembly table
and they sent him down to me. Ob-
ermann was off somewheres, so I
took him down to the testing rooms
myself — at least I started to take
him down.” Ashe paused, and a
tiny smile tugged at his lips, “Say,
did any of you ever carry on a
thought conversation without know-
ing it.”

LIAR!

No one bothered to answer, and
he continued, “You don’t realize it
at first, you know. He just spoke to
me — as logically and sensibly as you
can imagine — and it was only when
I was most of the way down to the
testing rooms that I realized that I
hadn’t said anything. Sure, I had
thought lots, but that isn’t the same
thing, is it.? I locked that thing up
and ran for Lanning. Having it
walking beside me, calmly peering
into my thoughts and picking and
choosing among them gave me the
w'illies.”

“I imagine it would,” said Susan
Calvin thoughtfully. Her eyes fixed
themselves upon Ashe in an oddly
intent manner. “We are so accus-
tomed to considering our own
thoughts private.”

Lanning broke in impatiently,
“Then only the four of us know. All
right! We’ve got to go about this
systematically. Ashe, I want you to
check over the assembly line from
beginning to end — everything.
You’re to eliminate all operations in
which there was no possible chance
of an error, and list all those where
there were, together with its nature
and possible magnitude.”

“Tall order,” grunted Ashe.

“Naturally! Of course, you’re to
put the men under you to work on
this — every single one if you have
to, and I don’t care if we go behind
schedule, either. But they’re not to
know why, you understand.”

“Hra-m-m, yes!” The young tech-
nician grinned wryly. “It’s still a
lulu of a job.”

Lanning swiveled about in his
chair and faced Calvin, “You’ll have
to tackle the job from the other di-
rection. You’re the robopsycholo-
gist of the plant, so you’re to study
the robot itself and work backw’ards.
Try to find out how he ticks. See
what else is tied up with bi.s tele-

pathic powers, how far they extend,
how they warp his outlook, and just
exactly what harm it has done to
his ordinary RB properties. You’ve
got that?”

Lanning didn't wait for Dr. Calvin
to answer.

“I’ll co-ordinate the work and in-
terpret the findings mathemati-
cally.” He puffed violently at his
cigar and mumbled the rest through
the smoke, “Bogert will help me
there, of course.”

Bogert polished the nails of one
pudgy hand with the other and said
blandly, “I dare say. I know a lit-
tle in the line.”

“Well! I’ll get started.” A.she
shoved his chair back and ro.se. His

pleasantly youthful face crinkled in
a grin, “I’ve got the darnedest job of
any of us, so I’m getting out of here
and to w ork.”

He left with a slurred, “B’ seein’

ye!

Susan Calvin answered with a
barely perceptible nod, but her eyes
followed him out of sight and she did
not answer when Lanning grunte«l
and said, “Do you want to go up
and see RB .”4 now’. Dr. Calvin? ”

RB 34’s photoelectric eyes lifted
from the book at the muffled sound
of hinges turning and he was upon
his feet when Susan Calvin entered.

She paused to readjust the huge
“No Entrance” sign upon the door
and then approached the robot w ith
a friendly smile.

“I’ve brought you the texts upon
hyperatomic motors, Herbie — a few
anyway. Would you care to look at
them?”

RB .34 — otherwise known as
Herbie — lifted the three heavy books
from her arms and opened to the
title page of one:

“Hm-m-m! ‘Theory of Hyper-
atomics.”’ He mumbled inarticu-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

latelj' to himself as he flipped the
pages and then spoke with an ab-
stracted air, “Sit down, Dr. Calvin!
This will take me a few minutes.”

The psychologist seated herself
and watched Herbie narrowly as he
took a chair at the other side of the
table and went through the three
books systematically.

At the end of half an hour, he put
them down, “Of course, I know why
you brought these.”

The corner of Dr. Calvin’s lip
twitched, “I was afraid you would.
It’s difficult to work with you,
Herbie. You’re always a step ahead
of me.”

“It’s the same with these books,
you know, as with the others. They
just don’t interest me. There’s
nothing to your textbooks. Your
science is just a mass of collected
data plastered together by make-
shift theory — and all so incredibly
simple, that it’s scarcely worth both-
ering about.

“It’s your fiction that interests
me. Your studies of the interplay
of human motives and emotions” —
his mighty hand gestured vaguely
as he sought the proper words.

Dr. Calvin whispered, “I think I
understand.”

“I see into minds, you see,” the
robot continued, “and you have no
idea how complicated they are. I
can’t begin to understand everything
because my own mind has so little in
common with them — but I try, and
your novels help.”

“Yes, but I’m afraid that after
going through some of the harrow-
ing emotional experiences of our
present-day sentimental novel” —
there was a tinge of bitterness in her
voice — “you find real minds like ours
dull and colorless.”

“But I don’t!”

The sudden energy in the response
brought the other to her feet. She

felt herself reddening, and thought
wildly, “He must know!”

Herbie subsided suddenly, and
muttered in a low voice from which
the metallic timber departed almost
entirely, “But, of course, I know
about it. Dr. Calvin. You think of
it always, so how can I help but
know.”

Her face was hard. “Have you —
told anyone.!*”

“Of course not!” This, with genu-
ine surprise. “No one has asked
me.”

“Well, then,” she flung out, “I
suppose you think I’m a fool.”

“No! It is a normal emotion.”

“Perhaps that’s why it’s so fool-
ish.” The wistfulness in her voice
drowned out everything else. Some
of the woman peered through the
layer of doctorhood. “I am not
what you would call — attractive.”

“If you are referring to mere
physical attraction, I couldn’t judge.
But I know, in any case, that there
are other types of attraction.”

“Nor young.” Dr. Calvin had
scarcely heard the robot.

“You are not yet forty.” An anx-
ious insistence had crept into
Herbie’s voice.

“Thirty-eight as you count the
years; a shriveled sixty as far as my
emotional outlook on life is con-
cerned. Am I a psychologist for
nothing.!*”

She drove on with bitter breath-
lessness, “And he’s barely thirty and
looks and acts younger. Do you
suppose he ever sees me as anything
but . . . but what I am?”

“You are wrong!” Herbie’s steel
fist struck the plastic-topped table
with a strident clang. “Listen to
me — ”

But Susan Calvin whirled on him
now and the hunted pain in her
eyes became a blaze, “Why should

LIAR!

I? What do you know about it all,
anyway, you . . . you machine.
I’m just a. specimen to you; an in-
teresting bug with a peculiar mind
spread-eagled for inspection. It’s a
wonderful example of frustration,
isn’t it.? Almost as good as your
books.” Her voice, emerging in dry
sobs, choked into silence.

I The robot cowered at the out-
burst. He shook his head plead-
ingly. “Won’t you listen to me,
please? I conld help you if you
would let me.”

“How?” Her lips curled. “By
giving me good advice?”

“No, not that. It’s just that I
know what other people think —
Milton Ashe, for instance.”

There was a long .silence, and Su-
san Calvin’s eyes dropped. “I don’t
want to know what he thinks,” she
gasped. “Keep quiet.”

“I think you would want to know
what he thinks.”

Her head remained bent, but her
breath came more quickly. “You’re
talking nonsen.se,” .she whispered.

“Wliy should I? I’m trying to
help. 'Milton^Ashe’s thoughts of you
— ” he paused.

And then the psychologist raised
her head, “Well?”

The robot said quietly, “He loves
you.”

For a full minute, Dr. Calvin did
not speak. She merely stared.
Then, “You’re mistaken! You must
be. Why shoidd he?”

“But he does. A thing like that
cannot be hidden — not from me.”
“But I am so . . . so — ” she
stammered to a halt.

“He looks deeper than the skin,
and admires intellect in others. Mil-
ton Ashe is not the type to marry a
head of hair and a pair of eyes.”
Susan Calvin found herself blink-
ing rapidly and waited before speak-

ing. Even then her voice trembled,
“Yet he certainly never in any way
indicated — ”

“Have you ever given him a
chance?”

“How could I? I never thought
that — ”

“Exactly!”

The psychologist paused in
thought and then looked up sud-
denly. “A girl visited him here at
the plant half a year ago. She was
pretty, I suppose — blond and slinky.
And, of cour.se, could scarcely add
two and two. He spent all day puff-
ing out his chest, trying to explain
how a robot was put together.” The
hardness had returned, “Not that
sUe understood! Who was she?”

Herbie answered without hesita-
tion, “I know the person you’re re-
ferring to. She’s his first cousin, and
there is no romantic interest there, I
assure you.”

Susan Calvin rose to her feet with •
a vivacity almost girlish, “Now isn’t
that strange? That’s exactly what
I used to pretend to myself some-
times, though I never really thought
so. Then it all mu.st be true.”

She ran to Herbie and seized his
cold, heavy hand in both hers.
“Thank you, Herbie.” Hei; voice
was an urgent, husky whisper.
“Don’t tell anyone about this. Let
it be our secret — and thank yon
again.” With that, and a convul-
sive squeeze of Herbie’s unrespon-
.sive metal fingers, she left.

Herbie turned slowly to his neg-
lected novel, but there was no one
to read his thoughts.

Milton Ashe stretched slowly
and magnificently, to the tune of
cracking joints and a chorus of
grunts, and then glaretl at Peter
Bogert, Ph. D.

“Say,” he said, “I’ve been at this
for a week now with just about no

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

sleep. How long do I have to keep
it up? I thought you said the posi-
tronic bombardment in Vac Cham-
ber D was the solution.”

Bogert yawned delicately and re-
garded his white hands with inter-
est, “It is! I’m on the track.”

“I know what that means when a
mathematician says it. How near
the end are you?”

“It all depends.”

“On what?” Ashe dropped into a
chair and stretched his long legs out
before him.

“On Banning. The old fellow dis-
agrees with me.” He sighed, “A bit
behind the times, that’s the trouble
with him. He clings to matrix me-
chanics as the all in all, and tWs
problem calls for more powerful
mathematical tools. He’s so stub-
bo ni.”

.Ashe muttered sleepily, “Why not
ask Herbie and settle the whole af-
fair.”

“Ask the robot?” Bogert’s eye-
brows climbed.

“Why not? Didn’t the old girl
tell you?”

“You mean Calvin?”

“Yeah! Susie herself. That ro-
bot’s a mathematical wiz. He
knows all about everything plus a
bit on the side. He does triple inte-
grals in his head and eats up tensor
analysis for dessert.”

The mathematician stared skepti-
cally, “Are you serious?”

“So help me! The catch is that
the dope doesn’t like math. He’d
rather read slushy novels. Honest!
You should see the tripe Susie keeps
feeding him: ‘Purple Passion’ and
‘Love in Space.’ ”

“Dr. Calvin hasn’t said a word- of
it to us.”

“Well, she hasn’t finished studying
him. You know how she is. She
likes to have everything just so be-
fore letting out the big secret.”

“She’s told you.”

“We sort of got to talking. I’ve
been seeing a lot of her lately.” He
opened his eyes wide and frowned,
“Say, Bogie, have you been noticing
anything queer about the dame
lately?”

Bogert relaxed into an undignified
grin, “She’s using lipstick, if that’s
what you mean.” '

“Hell, I know that. Rouge, pow-
der and eye shadow, too. She’s a
sight. But it’s not that. I can’t put
my finger on it. It’s the way .she
talks — as if she were happy about
something.” He thought a little, and
then shrugged.

The other allowed himself a leer,
which, for a scientist past fifty, was
not a bad job, “Maybe she’s in
love.”

Ashe allowed his eyes to close
again, “You’re nuts. Bogie. You go
speak to Herbie; I want to stay here
and go to sleep.”

“Right! Not that I particularly
like having a robot tell me my job,
nor that I think he can do it!”

A soft snore was his only answer.
•

Herbie listened carefully as
Peter Bogert, hands in pockets,
spoke with elaborate indifference.

“So there you are. I’ve been told
you understand these things, and
I’m asking you more in curiosity
than anything else. My line of rea-
soning, as I’ve outlined it, in-
volves a few doubtful steps, I admit,
which Dr. Banning refuses to ac-
cept, and the picture is still rather
incomplete.”

The robot didn’t answer, and Bo-
gert said, “Well?”

“I see no mistake,” Herbie stu-
died the scribbled figures.

“I don’t suppose you can go any
further than that?”

“I daren’t try. You are a better

LIAR!

mathematician than I, and — well,
I’d hate to commit myself.”

There was a shade of complacency
in Bogert’s smile, “I rather thought
that would be the case. It is deep.
We’ll forget it.” He crumpled the
sheets, tossed them down the waste
shaft, turned to leave, and then
thought better of it.

“By the way — ”

The robot waited. >

Bogert seemed to have difficulty,
“There is something — that is, per-
haps you can — ” He stopped.

Herbie spoke quietly, “Your
thoughts are confused, but there is
no doubt at all that they concern
Dr. Banning. It is silly to hesitate,
for as soon as you compose your-
self, I’ll know what it is j’ou want to
ask.”

The mathematician’s hand went to
his sleek hair in the familiar smooth-
ing gesture. “Banning is past sev-
enty,” he said, as if that explained
everything.

“I know that.”

“.And he’s been director of the
plant for almost thirty years.”
Herbie nodded.

“Well, now,” Bogert’s voice be-
came ingratiating, “you would know
whether . . . whether he’s thinking
of resigning. Health, perhaps, or
some other — ”

“Quite,” said Herbie, and that was
all.

“Well, do you know.”

“Certainly.”

“Then — uh — could you tell me?”
“Since you ask, yes.” The robot
was quite matter-of-fact about it.
“He has already resigned!”

“What!” The exclamation was
an explosive, almost inarticulate,
sound. Die scientist’s large head
hunched forward, “Say that again!”
“He has already resigned,” came
the quiet repetition, “but it has not
yet taken effect. He is waiting, you

see, to solve the problem of — er —
myself. That finished, he is quite
ready to turn the office of director
over to his successor.”

Bogert expelled his breath sharply,
“And this successor? Who is he?”
He was quite close to Herbie now,
eyes fixed fascinatedly on those un-
readable dull-red photoelectric cells
that were the robot’s eyes.

Words came slowly, “You are the
next director.”

And Bogert relaxed into a tight
smile, “This is good to know. I’ve
been hoping and waiting for this.
Thanks, Herbie.”

He was still smiling as he closed
the door behind himself, but what
Herbie’s feelings were, there was no
way of telling.

Peter Bogert was at his desk un-
til five that morning and he was
back at nine. The shelf just over
the desk emptied of its row of ref-
erence books and tables, as he re-
ferred to one after the other. The
pages of calculations before him in-
creased microscopically and the
crumpled sheets at his feet mounted
into a hill of scribbled paper.

At precisely noon, he stared at
the final page, rubbed a bloodshot
eye, yawned and shrugged. "This
is getting worse each minute.
Damn!”

He turned at the .sound of the
opening door and nodded at Ban-
ning, who entCTed, cracking the
knuckles of one gnarled hand with
the other.

The director took in the disorder
of the room and his eyebrows fur-
rowed together.

“New lead?” he asked.

“No,” came the defiant answer.
“What’s wrong with the old one?”

Banning did not trouble to an-
swer, nor to do more than bestow a
single cursory glance at the top .sheet

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

upon Bogert’s desk. He spoke
through the flare of a match as he
lit a cigar.

“Has Calvin told you about the
robot.* It’s a mathematical genius.
Really remarkable.”

The other snorted loudly, “So I’ve
heard. But Calvin had better stick
to robopsychology. I’ve checked
Herbie on math, and he can scarcely
stniggle through calculus.”

“Calvin didn’t find it so.”

“She’s crazy.”

“And 1 don’t find it so.” The di-
rector’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“You!” Bogert’s voice hardened.
“What’re you talking about?”

“I’ve been putting Herbie through
his paces all morning, and he can do
tricks vou never heard of.”

“Is that so?”

“You sound skeptical!” Lanning
flil>ped a sheet of paper out of his
vest pocket and unfolded it.
“That’s not my handwriting, is it?”
Bogert studied the large angular
notation covering the sheet, “Herbie
did this?”

“Right! And if you’ll notice, he’s
been working on your time integra-
tion of Equation 22. It comes” —
Lanning tapped a yellow fingernail
upon the last step — “to the identical
conclusion I did, and in a quarter
the time. You had no right to neg-
lect the Linger Effect in positronic
bombardment.”

“I didn’t neglect it. For Heaven’s
sake, Lanning, get it through your
head that it would cancel out — ”
“Oh, sure, you explained that.
You used the Mitchell Translation
Equation, didn’t you? Well — it
doesn’t apply.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve been using hyper-
imaginaries, for one thing.”

“What’s that to do with it?”
“Mitchell’s Equation won’t hold
when — ”

“Are you crazy? If you’ll reread
Mitchell’s original paper in the
Mathematical Journal — ”

“I don’t have to. I told you in
the beginning that I didn’t like his
reasoning, and Herbie backs me in
that.”

“Well, then,” Bogert shouted, “let
that clockwork contraption solve the
entire problem for you. Why bother
with nonessentials?”

“That’s exactly the point. Herbie
can’t solve the problem. I’ve asked
him. And if he can’t, tee can’t —
alone. I’m submitting the entire
question to the National Board.
It’s gotten beyond us.”

Bogert’s chair went over back-
ward as he jumped up asnarl, face
crimson. “You’re doing nothing of
the sort.”

Lanning flushed in his turn, “Are
you telling me what I can’t do.”
“Exactly,” was the gritted re-
sponse. “I’ve got the problem
beaten and you’re not to take it out
of my hands, understand? Don’t
think I don’t see through you, you
desiccated fossil. You’d cut your
own nose off before you’d let me get
the credit for solving robotic tele-
pathy.”

“You’re a damned idiot, Bogert,
and in one second I’ll have you sus-
pended for insubordination” — Lan-
ning’s lower lip trembled with pas-
sion.

“Which is one thing you won’t do,
Lanning. You haven’t any secrets
with a mind-reading robot around,
so don’t forget that I know all about
your resignation.”

The ash on Lanning’s cigar trem-
bled and fell, and the cigar itself
followed, “What . . . what — ”
Bogert chuckled nastily, “And I’m
the new director, be it understood.
I’m very aware of that; don’t think
I’m not. Damn your eyes, Lanning,
I’m going to give the orders about

LIAR!

here or there will be the sweetest
mess that you’ve ever been in.”
Lanning found his voice and let it
out with a roar. “You’re suspended,
d’ye hear? You’re relieved of all
duties. You’re broken, do you un-
derstand?”

I'he smile on the other’s face
broadened, “Now what’s the use of
that? You’re getting nowhere. I’m
holding the trumps. I kruno you’ve
resigned. Herbie told me, arid he
got it straight from you.”

Lanning forced himself to speak
quietly. He looked an old, old man,
with tired eyes peering from a face
in which the red had disappeared,
leaving the pasty yellow of age be-
hind, “I want to speak to Herbie.
He can’t have told you anything of
the sort. You’re playing a deep
game, Bogert, but I’m calling your
bluff. Come with me.”

Bogert shrugged, “To see Herbie?
Good! Damned good!”

It was also precisely at noon that
Milton Ashe looked up from his
clumsy sketch and said, “You get
the idea? I’m not too good at get-
ting this down, but that’s about how
it looks. It’s a honey of a house,
and I can get it for next to noth-
ing.”

Susan Calvin gazed across at him
with melting eyes. There had been
a preliminary self-consciousness
when she had first forced her hair
into curls and lacquered her finger-
nails a bright red — a silly everyone-
is-snickering-at-me feeling — but it
always vanished when she was with
him. There was nothing then but
the hard, metallic voice of Herbie
whispering in her ear —

“It’s really beautiful,” she sighed.
“I’ve ofte» thought that I’d like to
— ” Her voice trailed away.

“Of course,” Ashe continued
briskly, putting away his pencil,
AST-^

“I’ve got to wait for my vacation.
It’s only two weeks off, but this
Herbie business has everything up in
the air.” His eyes dropped to his
fingernails, “Besides, there’s another
point — but it’s a secret.”

“Then don’t tell me.”

“Oh, I’d just as soon. Tm just
busting to tell someone — and you’re
just about the best — er — ccmfidante
I could find here.” He grinned
sheepishly.

Susan Calvin’s heart bounded, but
she did not trust herself to speak.

“Frankly,” Ashe scraped his chair
closer and lowered his voice into a
confidential whisper, “the house isn’t
to be only for myself. I’m getting
married!”

And then he jumped out of his
seat, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing!” The horrible spinning
sensation had vanished, but it was
hard to get words out. “Married?
You mean — ”

“^Vhy, sure! About time, isn’t it?
You remember that girl who was
here last summer. That’s she! But
you are sick. You — ”

“Headache!” Susan Calvin mo-
tioned him away weakly. “I’ve . . .
I’ve been subject to them lately. I
want to ... to congratulate you,
of course. I’m very glad — ” ’Die
inexpertly-applied rouge made a
pair of nasty red splotches upon her
chalk-white face. Things hjid be-
gun spinning again. “Pardon me —
please — ”

The words were a mumble, as she
stumbled blindly out the door. It
had happened with the sudden ca-
tastrophe of a dream — and with all
the unreal horror of a dream.

But how could it be? Herbie had
said —

And Herbie knew! He could see
into minds!

She found herself leaning breath-
lessly against the door jamb, staring

ASTOL XiJlNG fe5^Ai:,*\(J£-i’iCUOi\'

into Herbie’s metal face. She must
have climbed the two flights of
stairs, but she had no memory of it.
The distance had been covered in an
instant, as in a dream.

As in a dream!

And still Herbie’s unblinking eyes
stared into hers and their dull red
seemed to expand into dimly-shining
nightmarish globes.

He was speaking, and she felt the
cold glass pressing against her lips.
She swallowed and shuddered into a
certain awareness of her surround-
ings.

Still Herbie spoke, and there was
an agitation in his voice — as if he
were hurt and frightened and plead-
ing.

The words were beginning to
make sense. “This is a dream,” he
was saying, “and you mustn’t be-
lieve in it. You’ll wake into the
real world soon and laugh at your-
self. He loves you, I tell you. He
does, he does! But not here! Not
now! This is all illusion.”

Susan Calvin nodded, her voice a
whisper, “Yes! Yes!” She was
clutching Herbie’s arm, clinging to
it, repeating over and over, “It isn’t
true, is it? It isn’t, is it?”

Just how she came to her senses,
she never knew — but it was like
passing from a world of misty unre-
ality to one of harsh sunlight. She
pushed him away from her, pushed
hard against that steely arm, and
her eyes were wide.

“What are you trying to do?”
Her voice rose to a harsh scream.
“ What are yov, trying to do?”

Herbie backed away, “I want to
help.”

"The psychologist stared, “Help?
By telling me this is a dream? By
trying to push me into schizo-
phrenia?” A hysterical tenseness
aeized her, “This is no dream! I
wish it were!”

She drew in her breath sharply,
“Wait! Why . . . why, I under-
stand. Merciful heavens, it’s .so ob-
vious.”

There was horror in the robot’.s
voice, “I had to!”

“And I believed you! I never
thought — ”

Loud voices outside the door
brought her to a halt. She turned
away, fists clenching spasmodically,
and when Bogert and Banning en-
tered, she was at the far window.
Neither of the men paid her the
slightest attention.

They approached Herbie simul-
taneously; Lanny angry and impa-
tient, Bogert coolly sardonic. The
director spoke first.

“Here now, Herbie. Listen to
me!”

The robot brought his eyes
sharply down upon the aged direc-
tor, “Yes, Dr. Banning.”

“Have you discussed me with Dr.
Bogert?”

“No, sir.” The answer came
slowly, and the smile on Bogcrt’s
face flashed off.

“What’s that?” , Bogert shoved in
ahead of his superior and straddled
the ground before the robot. “Re-
peat what you told me yesterday.”
“I said that — ” Herbie fell .si-
lent. Deep within him his metallic
diaphragm vibrated in soft discords.

“Didn’t you say he had resigned?”
roared Bogert. “Ans^v€r me!”
Bogert raised his arm frantically,
but Banning pushed him aside, “Are
you trying to bully him into lying?”
“You heard him. Banning. He
began to say ‘Yes’ and stopped.
Get out of my way! I want the
truth out of him, understand!”

"I’ll ask him!” Banning turned
to the robot. "All right, Herbie,
take it easy. Have I resigned?”
Herbie stared, and Banning re-

LIAR!

fiS

peated anxiously, ^‘Have I re-
signed?” There was the faintest
trace of a negative shake of the Ro-
bot’s head. A long wait produced
nothing further.

The two men looked at each other,
and the hostility in their eyes was
all but tangible.

“What the devil,” blurted Bogert,
“has the robot gone mute? Can’t
you speak, you monstrosity?”

“I can speak,” came the ready an-
swer.

“Then answer the question. Didn’t
you tell me Lanning had resigned?
Hasn’t he resigned?”

And again there was nothing but
dull silence, until from the end of
the room, Susan Calvin’s laugh rang
out suddenly, high-pitched and
seinihysterical.

The two mathematicians jumped,
and Bogert ’s eyes narrowed, “You
here? What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’s funny.” Her voice was
. not quite natural. “It’s just that
I’m not the only one that’s been
caught. There’s irony in -three of
the greatest experts in robotics in
the world falling into the same ele-
mentary trap, isn’t there?” Her
voice faded, and she put a pale hand
to her forehead, “But it isn’t funny!”
This time the look that passed be-
tween the two men was one of raised

eyebrows. “What trap are you talk-
ing about?” asked Lanning stiffly.
“Is something wrong with Herbie?”
“No,” she approached them
slowly, “nothin’s wrong with him —
only with us.” She whirled sud-
denly and shrieked at the robot,
“Get away from me! Go to the
other end of the room and don’t let
me look at you.”

Herbie cringed before the fury of
her eyes and stumbled away in a
clattering trot.

Canning’s voice was hostile,
“What is all this. Dr. Calvin?”

She faced them and spoke wearily,
“You know the fundamental law
impressed upon the positronic brain
of all robots, of course.”

The other two nodded together.
“Certainly,” said Bogert. “On no
conditions is a Luman being to l>e
injured in any way, even when such
injury is directly ordered by another
human.”

“How nicely put,” sneered Cal-
vin. “But what kind of injury?”
“Why — any kind.”

“Exactly! Any kind! But what
about hurt feelings? What about
deflation of one’s ego? What about
the blasting of one’s hopes? Is that
injury?”

Lanning frowned, “What would a

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Pepsi-Cola is mads oidy by Pepsi-Cola Company, long Island City, N. Y. Bottled locally by

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ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

robot know about — ” And then he
caught himself with a gasp.

“YouVe caught on, have you.'*
Thi^ robot reads minds. Do you
suppose it doesn’t know everything
about mental injury.? Do you sup-
pose that if asked a question, it
wouldn’t give exactly that answer
tliat one imnts to hear. Wouldn’t
any other answer hurt us, and
wouldn’t Herbie know that?”

“(io(m 1 heavens!” muttered Bo-
gert.

The psychologist cast a sardonic
glance at him, “I take it you asked
him whether banning had resigned.
You uanted to hear that he had re-
signed and so that’s what Herbie
told you.”

“And I suppose that is why,” said
banning, tunelessly, “it wouldn’t an-
swer a little while |igo. It couldn’t
answer either way without hurting
one of us.”

Tiiehe was a short pause in
which the men looked thoughtfully
across the room at the robot,
crouching in the chair by the book-
ca.se, head resting in one hand.

Susan Calvin stared steadfastly
at the floor, “He knew of all this.
That . . . that devil knows every-
thing — including what went wrong
in his assembly.” Her eyes were
dark and brooding.

banning looked up, “You’re
wrong there, Dr. Calvin. He doesn’t
know what went wrong. I asked
him.”

“What <loes that mean?” cried
Calvin. “Only that you didn’t want
him to give you the solution. It
would puncture your ego to have a
machine do what you couldn’t. Did
you ask him?” she shot at Bogert.

“In a way.” Bogert coughed and
reddened. » “He told me he knew
very little about mathematics.”
banning laughed, not very loudly.

and the psychologist smiled causti-
cally. She said, “/'// ask him! A
solution by him won’t hurt my ego.”
She raised her voice into a cold, im-
perative “Come here!”

Herbie rose and approached with
hesitant steps.

“You know, T suppose,” she con-
tinued, “just exactly at what point
in the assembly an extraneous fac-
tor was introduced or an essential
one left out.”

“Yes,” said Herbie, in tones barely
heard.

“Hold on,” broke in Bogert an-
grily. “That’s not necessarily true.
You want to hear that, that’s all.”

“Don’t be a fool,” replied Calvin.
“He certainly knows as much math
as you and banning together, since
he can read minds. Give him bis
chance.”

The mathematician subsided, and
Calvin continued, “All right, then,
Herbie, give! We’re waiting.” And
in an aside, “Get pencils and paper,
gentlemen.”

But Herbie remained silent, and
there was triumph in the psycholo-
gist’s voice, “Why don’t j’ou answer,
Herbie?”

The robot blurted out suddenly,
“I cannot. You know I cannot!
Dr. Bogert and Dr. banning don’t
want me to.”

“They want the solution.”

“But not from me.”

banning broke in, speaking slowly
and distinctly, “Don’t be foolish,
Herbie. We do want you to tell us.”

Bogert nodded curtly.

Herbie’s voice rose to wild
heights, “What’s the use of saying
that? Don’t you suppose that I can
see past the superficial skin of your
mind? Down below, you don’t want
me to. I’m a machine, given the
imitation of life only by virtue of
the positronic interplay in my brain
— which is man’s device. You can’t

LIAR!

lose face to me without being hurt.
That’s deep in your mind and vmit
be erased. I can’t give the solu-
tion.”

“We’ll leave,” said Dr. Lanning.
“Tell Calvin.”

“That would make no difference,”
cried Herbie, “since you would know
anyway that it was I that was sup-
plying the answer.”

Calvin resumed, “But you under-
stand, Herbie, that despite that,
I)rs. Lanning and Bogert want that
solution.”

“By their own efforts!” insisted
Herbie.

“But they want it, and the fact
that you have it and won’t give it
hurts them. You see that, don’t
you?”

“Yes! Yes!”

“And if you tell them, that will
hurt them, too.”

“Yes! Yes!” Herbie was re-
treating slowly, and step by step
Susan Calvin advanced. The two
men watched in frozen bewilder-
ment.

“You can’t tell them,” droned the
psychologist slowly, “because that
would hurt and you mustn’t hurt.
But if you don’t tell them, you hurt,
so you must tell them. And if you
do, you will hurt and jmu mustn’t,
so you can’t tell them; but if you
don’t, you hurt, so you must; but if
you do, you hurt, so you mustn’t;
but if you don’t, you hurt, so you
must; but if you do, you — ”

Herbie was up against the wall,
and here he dropped to his knees.
“Stop!” he shrieked. “Close your
mind! It is full of pain and frustra-
tion and hate! I didn’t mean it, I
tell you! I tried to help! I told
you what you wanted to hear. I
had to!”

The psychologist paid no atten-
tion, “You must tell them, but if

THE

you do, you hurt, so you musn’t;
but if you don’t, you hurt, so you
must; but — ”

And Herbie screamed!

It was like the whistling of a pic-
colo many times magnified — shrill
and shriller ^ill it keened with the
terror of a lost soul and filled the
room with the piercingness of itself.

And when it died into nothing-
ness, Herbie collapsed into a huddled
heap of motionless metal.

Bogert’s face was bloodless, “He’s
dead!”

“No!” Susan Calvin burst into
body-racking gusts of wild^ laugh-
ter, “not dead — merely insane. I
confronted him with the insoluble
dilemma, and he broke down. You
can scrap him now — because he’ll
never speak again.”

Lanning was on his knees beside
the thing that had been Herbie. His
fingers touched the cold, unrespon-
sive metal face and he shuddered.
“You did that on purpose.” He rose
and faced her, face contorted.

“What if I did? You can’t help
it now.” And in a sudden access of
bitterness, “He deserved it.”

The director seized the paralyzed,
motionless Bogert by the wrist,
“What’s the difference. Come,
Peter.” He sighed, “A thinking ro-
bot of this type is worthless any-
way.” His eyes were old and tired,
and he repeated, “Come, Pete!”

It was minutes after the two scien-
tists left that Dr. Susan Calvin re-
gained part of her mental equilib-
rium. Slowly, her eyes turned to
the living-dead Herbie and the tight
smile returned to her face. Long
she stared while the triumph faded
and the helpless frustration returned
— and of all her turbulent thoughts
only one infinitely bitter word
passed her lips.

‘Xiar!”

END.

£6

soLuiion uosiiTisfflcioey

By finson IBacDonalfl

This story presents a challenge to the reader,
a problem that must be solved soon in the world
of grim fact if there is any logic in events of
history — the problem of the irresistible weapon.

Illustrated by Kramer

In 190;} tlie Wright brothers flew
at Kitty Hawk.

In December, 1938, in Berlin, Dr.
Hahn split the uranium atom.

In April, 1943, Dr. Estelle Karst,
working under the Federal Emer-
gency Defense Authority, perfected
the Karst-Obre technique for pro-
ducing artificial radioactives.

So American foreign policy had to
change.

Had to. Had to. It is very difl5-
cult to tuck a bugle call back into a
bugle. Pandora’s Box is a one-way
projKisition. You can turn pig into
.sausage, but not sausage into pig.
Broken eggs stay broken. “All the
King’s horses and all the King’s men
can’t put Humpty together again.”

I ought to know — I was one of the
King’s men.

By rights I should not have been.
I was not a professional military
man when World War II broke out,
and when Congress passed the draft
law I drew a high number, high
enough to keep me out of the army
long enough to die of old age.

Not that very many died of old
age that generation!

But I was the newly appointed
secretaiy to a freshman congress-
man; I had been his campaign mana-
ger and my former job had left me.
By profession, I was a high-school
teacher of economics and sociology —

school boards don’t like teachers of
social subjects actually to deal with
social problems — and my contract
was not renewed. I jumped at the
chance to go to W’ashington.

My congressman was named
Manning. Yes, t/ie Manning, Colo-
nel Clyde C. Manning, U, S. Army
retired — Mr. Commissioner Man-
ning. What you may not know
about him is that he was one of the
army’s No. 1 experts in chemical
warfare before a leaky heart put
him on the shelf. I had picked him,
with the help of a group of my |X)-
litical associates, to run against the
two-bit chiseler who was the incum-
bent in our district. We needed a
strong liberal candidate and Alan-
ning was tailor-made for the job. He
had served one term in the grand
jury, which cut his political eye
teeth, and had stayed active in civic
matters thereafter.

Being a retired army officer was a
political advantage in vote-getting
among the more conservative and
well-to-do citizens, and his record
was 0. K. for the other side of the
fence, I’m not primarily concerned
with vote-getting; what I liked about
him was that, though he was liberal,
he was tough-minded, which most
liberals aren’t. Most liberals believe
that water imns downhill, but, pr.nise
God, it’ll never reach the bottom.

“The suits protect us — but we can’t let
that poisonous dust escape into the air”

Manning was not like that. He
could see a logical necessity and act
on it, no matter how unpleasant it
might be.

We were in Manning’s suite in
the House Office Building, taking a
little blow from that stormy first
session of the Seventy-eighth Con-

gress and trying to catch up on a
mountain of correspondence, when
the war department called. Man-
ning answered it himself.

I had to overhear, but then I was
his secretary. “Yes,” he said, “speak-
ing. Very well, put him on. Oh
. . . hello, general. . . . Fine, thanks.
Yourself?” Then there .was a long

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

silence. Presently, Manning said,
“But ] can’t do that, general. I’ve
got this job to take care of. . . .
What’s that? . . . Yes, who is to do
iny committee work and represent
my district? ... 1 think so.” He
glanced at his wrist watch. “I’ll be
right over.”

He put down the phone, turned to
me, and said, “Get your hat, John.
We are going over to the war de-
partment.”

“So?” I said, complying.

“Yes,” he .said with a worried look,
“the chief of staff thinks I ought to
go back to duty.” He set off at a
brisk walk, with me hanging back
to try to force him not to strain his
bum heart. “It’s impossible, of
course.” We grabbed a taxi from
the stand in front of the office build-
ing, swung around the Capitol, and
started down Constitution Boule-
vard.

But it was possible, and Manning
agreed to it, after the chief of staff
I»resented his case. Manning had to
be convinced, for there is no way on
earth for anyone, even the President
himself, to onler a congressman to
leave his post, even though he hap-
pens to be a member of the military
service, too.

'Hie chief of staff had anticipated
the political difficulty and had been
forehanded enough to have already
dug up an opposition congressman
with whom to pair Manning’s vote
for the duration of the emergency.
This other congressman, the Honor-
able Joseph T. Brigham, was a re-
serve officer who wanted to go to
<luty himself — or was willing to; I
never found out which. Being from
the opposite political party, his vote
in the House of Representatives
could fbe permanently paired against
Manning’s and neither party would
lose by the arrangement.

There was talk of leaving, me in
Washington to handle the political
details of Manning’s office, but Man-
ning decided against it, judging that
his other secretary could do that, and
announced that I must go along as
his adjutant. The chief of staff «le-
murred, but Manning was in a posi-
tion to insist, and the chief had to
give in.

A chief of staff can get things
done in a hurry if he wants to. I
was sworn in as a temporary officer
before we left the building; before
the day was out I was at the bank,
signing a note to pay for the sloppy’
service uniforms the army had
adopted and to buy a dress uniform
with a beautiful shiny belt — a dress
outfit which, as it turned out, I was
never to need.

We drove over into Maryland the
next day and Manning took charge
of the P’ederal nuclear research lab-
oratory, known officially by the
hush-hush title of War Department
Special Defense Project No. .347. I
didn’t know a lot about physics and
nothing about modern atomic phy.s-
ics, aside from the stuff you rea<l in
the Sunday supplements. Later, I
picked up a smattering, mostly
wrong, I suppose, from associating
with the heavyweights with which
the laboratory was staffed.

Colonel Manning had taken an
army p. g. course at ^Massachusetts
Tech and had received a master of
science degree for a brilliant thesis
on the mathematical theories of
atomic structure. That was why the
army had to have him for this job.
But that had been .some years be-
fore; atomic theory had turned sev-
eral cartwheels in the meantnne; he
admitted to me that he had to bone
like the very devil to try to catch up
t6 the point where he could begin to
understand what his highbrow

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

charges were talking about in their
reports.

I tliink he overstated the degree
of his ignorance; there was certainly
no one else in the United States who
could have done the job. It required
a man who could direct and suggest
research in a highly esoteric field,
but who saw the problem from the
standpoint of urgent military neces-
sity. Left to themselves, the physi-
cists would have reveled in the in-
tellectual luxury of an unlimited re-
search expense account, but, while
they undoubtedly would have made
major advances in human knowl-
edge, they might never have devel-
oped anything of military usefulness,
or the military possibilities of a dis-
covery might be missed for years.

It’s like this: It takes a smart
hound dog to hunt birds, but it takes
a hunter behind him to keep him
from wasting time chasing rabbits.
And the hunter needs to know nearly
as much as the dog.

No derogatory reference to the
.scientists is intended — by no means!
We had all the genius in the field
that the United States could pro-
duce, men from Chicago, Columbia,
Cornell, M. T. T., Cal Tech, Berkley,
every radiation laboratory in the
country, as well as a couple of
broad- A boys lent to us by the Brit-
ish. And they had every facility
that ingenuity could think up and
money could build. The five-hun-
dred-ton cyclotron which had origi-
nally been intended for the Univer-
sity of California was there, and was
already obsolete in the face of the
new gadgets these brains had
thought up,, asked for, and been
given. Canada supplied us with all
the uranium we asked for — ^tons of
the treacherous stuff — from Great
Bear Lake, up near the Yukon, and
the fractional-residues technique of
separating uranium isotope 285 from

the conunoner isotope 238 had al-
ready been worked out, by the same
team from Chicago that had worked
up the earlier expensive mass spec-
trogi’aph method.

Someone in the United States gov-
ernment had realized the terrific po-
tentialities of uranium 235 quite
early and, as far back as the sum-
mer of 1940, had rounded up every
atomic research man in the country
and had sworn them to silence.
Atomic power, if ever developed, was
planned to be a government mo-
nopoly, at least till the war was over.
It might turn out to be the most
incredibly powerful explosive ever
dreamed of, and it might be the
source of equally incredible power.
In any case, with Hitler talking
about secret weapons and shouting
hoarse insults at democracies, the
government planned to keep any
new discoveries very close to the
vest.

Hitler had lost the advantage of a
first crack at the secret of uranium
through not taking precautions. Dr.
Hahn, the first man to break open
the uranium atom, was a German.
But one of his laboratory assistants
had fled Germany to escape a po-
grom. She came to this country,
and told us about it.

We were searching, there in the
laboratory in Maryland, for a way
to use U235 in a controlled explo-
sion. We had a vision of a one-ton
bomb that would be a whole air raid
in itself, a single explosion that
would flatten out an entire industrial
center. Dr. Ridpath, of Continental
Tech, claimed that he could build
such a bomb, but that he could not
guarantee that it would not explode
as soon as it was loaded and as for
the force of the explosion — well, he
did not believe his own figures; they
ran out to too many ciphers.

The problem was, strangely

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

enough, to find an explosive which
would be weak enough to blow up
only one county at a time, and stable
enough to blow up only on request.
If we could devise a really practical
rocket fuel at the same time, one
capable of driving a war rocket at a
thousand miles an hour, or more,
then we would be in a position to
make most anybody say “uncle” to
Uncle Sam.

We fiddled around with it all the
rest of 1943 and well into 1944. The
war in Europe and the troubles in
Asia dragged on. After Italy folded
up, England was able to release
enough ships from her Mediter-
ranean fleet to ease the blockade of
the British Isles. With the help of
the planes we could now send her
regularly and with the additional
over-age destroyers we let her have,
England hung on somehow, digging
in and taking more and more of her
essential defense industries under-
ground. Russia shifted her weight
from side to side as usual, apparently
with the policy of preventing either
side from getting a sufficient advan-
tage to bring the war to a successful
conclusion. People were beginning
to speak of “permanent war.”

I WAS killing time in the adminis-
trative office, trying to improve my
typing — a lot of Manning’s reports
bad to be typed by me personally —
when the orderly on duty stepped in
and announced Dr. Karst. I flipped
the interoffice communicator. “Dr.
Karst is here, chief. Can you see
her.?”

“Yes,” he answered, through his
end.

I told the orderly to show her in.

Estelle Karst was quite a remark-
able old girl and, I suppose, the first
woman ever to hold a commission in
the corps of engineers. She was an
M. D. as well as an Sc.D. and re-

minded me of the teacher I had had
in fourth grade. I guess that was
why I always stood up instinctively
when she came in the room — I was
afraid she might look at me and
sniff. It couldn’t have been her
rank; we didn’t bother much with
rank.

She was dressed in white coveralls
and a shop apron and had simply
thrown a hooded cape over herself
to come through the snow. I said,
“Good morning, ma’am,” and led
her into Manning’s office.

The colonel greeted her with the
urbanity that had made him such a
success with women’s clubs, seated
her, and offered her a cigarette.

“I’m glad to see you, major,” he
said. “I’ve been intending to drop
around to your shop.”

I knew what he w^as getting at;
Dr. Karst’s work had been primarily
physiomedical; he wanted her to
change the direction of her research
to something more productive in a
military sense.

“Don’t call me ‘major,’ ” she said
tartly.

“Sorry doctor — ”

“I came on business, and must get
right back. And I presume you are
a busy man, too. Colonel Manning,
I need some help.”

“That’s what we are here for.”

“Good. I’ve run into some snags
in my research. I think that one of
the men in Dr. Ridpath’s depart-
ment could help me, but Dr. Ridpath
doesn’t seem disposed to be co-
operative.”

“So.? Well, I hardly like to go
over the head of a departmental
chief, but tell me about it; perhaps
we can arrange it. Whom do you
want.?”

“I need Dr. Obre.”

“The spectroscopist — hm-m-m. I
can understand Dr. Ridpath’s re-
luctance, Dr. Karst, and I’m dis-

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

posed to agree with him. After all,
the high-explosives research is really
our main show around here.”

-She bristled and I thought she was
going to make him stay in after
school at the very least. “Colonel
Manning, do you realize the impor-
tance of artificial radioactives to
modern medicine?”

“Why, I believe I do. Neverthe-
less, doctor, our primary mission is
to i>erfect a weapon which will serve
as a safeguard to the whole country
in time of war — ”

She sniffed and went into action.
“Weajjons — fiddlesticks! Isn’t there
a medical corps in the army? Isn’t
it more important to know how to
heal men than to know how to blow
them to bits? Colonel Manning,
you’re not a fit man to have charge
of this project! You’re a . . . you’re
a, a warmonger, that’s what you
are!”

I felt my ears turning red, but
Manning never budged. He could
have raised Cain with her, confined
her to her quarters, maybe even have
conrt-martialed her, but Manning
isn’t like that. He told me once
that every time a man is court-mar-
tialed, it is a sure sign that some
senior officer hasn’t measured up to
his job.

“I am sorry you feel that way,
doctor,” he said mildly, “and I agree
that my technical knowledge isn’t
what it might be. And, believe me,
4 do wish that healing were all we
had to worry about. In any case, I
have not refused your request. Let’s
walk over to your laboratory and see
what the problem is. Likely there
is some arrangement that can be
made which will satisfy everybody.”

He was already up and getting
out his greatcoat. Her set mouth
relaxed a trifle and she answered,
“Verv well. I’m sorry I spoke as I
did.”'

“Not at all,” he replied. “These
are worrying times. Come along,
John.”

I trailed after them, stopping in
the outer office to get my own coat
and to stuff my notebook in a pocket.

By the time we had trudged
through mushy snow the eighth of
a mile to her lab they were talking
about gardening!

Manning acknowledged the sen-
try’s challenge with a wave of his
hand and we entered the building.
He started casually on into the inner
lab, but Karst stopped him. “Armor
first, colonel.”

We had trouble finding overshoes
that would fit over Manning’s boots,
which he persisted in wearing, de-
spite the new uniform regulations,
and he wanted to omit the foot pro-
tection, but Karst would not hear
of it. She called in a couple of her
assistants who made jury-rigged
moccasins out of some soft-lead
sheeting.

The helmets were different from
those used in the explosives lab, be-
ing fitted with inhalers. “What’s
this?” inquired Manning.

“Radioactive dust guard,” she
said. “It’s absolutely essential.”

We threaded a lead-lined meander
and arrived at the workroom door
which she opened by combination.
I blinked at the sudden bright illumi-
nation and noticed that the air was
filled with little shiny motes.

“Hm-m-m — it is -idusty,” agreed
Manning. “Isn’t there some way
of controlling that?” His voice
sounded muffled from behind the
dust mask.

“The last stage has to be exposed
to air,” explained Karst. “The hood
gets most of it. We could control it,
but it would mean a quite expensive
new installation.”

“No trouble about that. We’re

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

not on a budget, you know. It must
be very annoying to have to work in
a nia,sk like this.”

“It is,” acknowledged Karst. “The
kind of gear it would take would en-
able us to work without body armor,
too. That would be a comfort.”

I suddenly had a picture of the
kin»l of thing these researchers put
up with. I am a fair-sized man, yet
I found that armor heavy to carry
around. Estelle Karst was a small
woman, yet she was willing to work
maybe fourteen hours, day after day,
in an outfit which was about as com-
fortable as a diving suit. But she
had not complained.

Not all the heroes are in the head-
lines. The.se radiation exjjerts not
only ran the chance of cancer and
nasty radioactidn burns, but the men
stood a chance of damaging their
germ plasm and then having their
wives present them with something
horrid in the way of offspring — no
chin, for example, and long hairy
ears. Neverthcle.ss, they went right
ahead and never seemed to get ir-
ritate«l unless something held up
their work.

Dr. Karst was past the age when
she would be likely to be concerned
personally about progeny, but the
principle applies.

1 wandered around, looking at the
unlikely apparatus she used to get
her results, fascinated as always by
my failure to recognize much that
reminded me of the physics labora-
tory I had known when I was an
undergijuluate, and being careful
not to touch anything. Kar.st started
explaining to Manning what she was
doing and why, but I knew that it
was useless for me to try to follow
that technical stuff. If Manning
wanted notes, he would dictate them.
My attention was caught by a big
boxlike contraption in one corner of
the room. It had a hopperlike

gadget on one .side and I could hear
a sound from it like the whirring of
a fan with a background of running
water. It intrigued me.

I moved back to the neighborhood
of Dr. Karst and the colonel and
heard her saying, “The problem
amounts to this, colonel: I am get-
ting a much more highly radioactive
end-product than I want, but there
is considerable variation in the half-
life of otherwise equivalent samples.
That suggests to me that I am using
a mixture of isotopes, but 1 haven't
been able to prove it. And frankly,
I do not know enough alxnit that
end of the field to be sure of sufficient
refinement in my methods. I need
Dr. Obre’s help on that.”

I think those were her words, but
I may not be doing her justice, not
being a physicist. I understood the
part aljout “half-life.” All radio-
active materials keep right on radiat-
ing until they turn into .something
else, which takes theoretically for-
ever. As a matter of practice their
periods, or “lives,” are described in
terms of how long it takes the origi-
nal radiation to drop to one-half
.strength. That time is called a “hJtlf-
life” and each radioactive i.sotope of
an element has its own specific char-
acteristic half-lifetime.

One of the staff — I forget which
one — told me once that any form of
matter can be considered as radio-
active in some degree; it’s a question
of intensity and period, or half-life.

“I’ll talk to Dr. Ridpath,” Man-
ning answered her, “and see what
can be arranged. In the meantime
you might draw up plans for what
you want to re-equip your lal)ora-
tory.”

“Thank you. colonel.”

I COULD SEE that Manning was
about ready to leave, having ))aci-
fied her; I was still curious about the

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

big box that gave out the odd noises.

“May I ask what that is, doctor?”
I said, pointing.

“Oh, that? That’s an air condi-
tioner.”

“Odd-looking one. I’ve never seen
one like it.”

“It’s not to condition the air for
this room. It’s to remove the radio-
active dust before the exhaust air
goes outdoors. We wash the dust
out of the foul air.”

“Where does the water go?”

“Down the drain. Out into the
bay eventually, I suppose.”

I tried to snap my fingers, which
was impossible because of the lead
mittens. “That accounts for it,
colonel!”

“Accounts for what?”

“Accounts for those accusing
notes we’ve been getting from the
Bureau of Fisheries. This poisonous
dust is being carried out into Chesa-
peake Bay and is killing the fish.”

Manning turned to Karst. “Do
you think that possible, doctor?”

I could see her brows draw to-
gether through the window in her
helmet. “I hadn’t thought about
it,” she admitted. “I’d have to do
some figuring on the possible concen-
trations before I could give you a
definite answer. But it is possible —
yes. However,” she added anx-
iously, “it would be simple enough
to divert this drain to a sink hole of
some sort.”

“Hm-m-m — yes.” He did not

say anything for some minutes, sim-
ply stoo4 there, looking at the box.

Presently he said, “This dust is
pretty lethal?”

“Quite lethal, colonel.” There was
another long silence.

At last I gathered he had made
up his mind about something for he
said decisively, “I am going to see to
it that you get Obre’s assistance,
doctor — ”

“Oh, good!”

“ — but I want you to help me in
return. I am very much interested
in this reseai'ch of yours, but I want
it carried on with a little broader
scope. I want you to investigate for
maxima both in period and intensity
as well as for minima. I want you
to drop the strictly utilitarian ap-
proach and make an exhaustive re-
search along lines which we will work
out in greater detail later.”

She started to say something but
he cut in ahead of her. really
thorough program of research should
prove more helpful in the long run
to your original purpose than a more
narrow one. And I shall make it my
business to expedite every possible
facility for such a research. I think
we may turn up a number of inter-
esting things.”

He left immediately, giving her no
time to discuss it. He did not seem
to want to talk on the way back and
I held my peace. I think he had
already gotten a glimmering of the
bold and drastic strategy this was
to lead to, but even Manning could
not have thought out that early the
inescapable consequences of a few
dead fish — otherwise he would never
have ordered the research.

No, I don’t really believe that.
He would have gone right ahead,
knowing that if he did not do it,
someone else would. He would have
accepted the responsibility while bit-
terly aware of its weight.

1944 WORE ALONG with no great
excitement on the surface. Karst
got her new laboratory equipment
and so much additional help that her
department rapidly became the larg-
est on the grounds. The explosives
research was suspended after a con-
ference between Manning and Rid-
path, of which I heard only the end,
but the meat of it was that there

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

existed not even a remote possibility
at that time of utilizing U235 as an
explosive. As a source of power, yes,
sometime in the distant future when
there had been more opportunity to
deal with the extremely ticklish
problem of controlling the nuclear
reaction. Even then it seemed likely
that it would not be a source of
power in prime movers such as
rocket motors or mobiles, but would
be used in vast power plants at least
as large as the Boulder Dam installa-
tion.

After that Ridpath became a sort
of co-chairman of Karst’s depart-
ment and the equipment formerly
used by the explosives department
was adapted or replaced to carry on
research on the deadly artificial
radioactives. Manning arranged a
division of labor and Karst stuck to
her original problem of developing
techniques for tailor-making radio-
actives. I think she was perfectly
happy, sticking with a one-track
mind to the problem at hand. I
don’t know to this day whether or
not Manning and Ridpath ever saw
fit to discuss with her what they
intended to do.

As a matter of fact, I was too busy
ray.self to think much about it. The
general elections were coming up and
T was determined that Manning
should have a constituency to return
to, when the emergency was over.
He was not much interested, but
agreed to let his name be filed as a
candidate for re-election. I was try-
ing to work up a campaign by re-
mote control and cursing because I
could not be in the field to deal with
the thousand and one emergencies
•a-s they arose.

I did the next best thing and had
a private line installed to permit the
campaign chairman to reach me
easily. I don’t think I violated the
Hatch Act, but I guess I stretched it

a little. Anyhow, it turned out all
right; Manning was elected, as were
several other members of the citizen-
military that year. An attempt w’as
made to smear him by claiming that
he was taking two salaries for one
job, but we squelched that with a
pamphlet entitled “For Shame!”
which explained that he got one sal-
ary for two jobs. That’s the Federal
law in such cases and people are en-
titled to know it.

It was just before Christmas that
Manning first admitted to me how
much the implications of the Kar.st-
Obre process were preying on his
mind. He called me into his office
over some inconsequential matter,
then did not let me go. I saw that
he wanted to talk.

“How much of the K-0 dust do
we now have on hand?” he asked
suddenly.

“Just short of ten thousand units,”
I replied. “I can look up the exact
figures in half a moment.” A unit
would take care of a thousand men,
at normal dispersion. He knew the
figure as well as I did, and T knew he
was stalling.

We had shifted almost impercep-
tibly from research to manufacture,
entirely on Manning’s initiative and
authority. Manning had never made
a specific report to the department
about it, unless he had done so ver-
bally to the chief of staff.

“Never mind,” he answered to my
suggestion, then added, “Did you see
those horses?”

“Yes,” I said briefly.

I did not want to talk about it,
I like horses. We had requisitioned
six broken-down old nags, ready for
the bone yard, and had used them
experimentally. We knew now what
the dust would do. After they had
died, any part of their carcasses
would register on a photographic

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

plate and tissue from the apices of
their lungs and from the bronchia
glowed with a light of its own.

Manning stood at the window,
staring out at the dreary Maryland
winter for a minute or two before re-
laying, “John, I wish that radio-
activity had never been discovered.
Do you realize what that devilish
stuff amounts to.^”

“Well,” I said, “it’s a weapon,
about like jwison gas — maybe more
efncient.”

“Rats!” he said, and for a mo-
ment I thought he was annoyed with
me i>ersonally. “That’s about like
comparing a sixteen-inch gun with
a bow and arrow. We’ve got here
the first weajx)n the world has ever
seen against which there is no de-
fense, none what.soever. It’s death
itself, C. O. D.

“Have you seen Ridpath’s re-
port.^” he went on.

1 had not. Ridpath had taken to
deliv'ering his reports by hand to
Manning personally.

“Well,” he said, “ever since we
started production I’ve had all the
talent we could spare working on the
problem of a defense against the
dust. Ridpath tells me and I agree
with him that there is no means
whatsoever to combat the stuff, once
it’s used.”

“How about armor,” I asked, “and
protective clothing.!*”

“Sure, sure,” he agreed irritatedly,
‘ provided you never take it off to
eat, or to drink, or for any purpose
whatever, until the radioaction has
ceased, or you are out of the danger
zone. That is all right for laboratory
work; I’m talking about war.”

I considered the matter. “I still
don’t see what you are fretting
about, colonel. If the stuff is as
good as you say it is, you’ve done
just exactly what you set out to do
— develop a weajxjn which would

give the United States protection
against aggression.”

He swung around. “John, there
are times when I think you are
downright stupid!”

I said nothing. I knew him and I
knew how' to discount his moods.
The fact that he permitted me to see
his feelings is the finest compliment
I have ever had.

“Look at it this way,” he went on
more patiently, “this dust, as a
weapon, is not just simply sufficient
to safeguard the United States, it
amounts to a loaded gun held at the
head of every man, woman, and
child on the globe!”

“Well,” I answered, “what of
that.!* It’s our secret, and we’ve got
the upper ham!. The United States
can put a stop to this war, and any
other war. We can declare a Pax
Americana, and enforce it.”

“Hm-m-m — I wish it were that
easy. But it won’t* remain our se-
cret; you can count on that. It
doesn’t matter how successfully we
guard it; all that anyone needs is
the hint given by the dust itself and
then it is just a matter of time until
some other nation develops a tech-
nique to produce it. You can’t stop
brains from working, John; the re-
invention of the method is a mathe-
matical certainty, once they know
what it is they are looking for. And
uranium is a common enough sub-
stance, widely distributed over the
globe — don’t forget that!

“It’s like this: Once the secret is
out — and it will be out if we ever
use the stuff! — the whole world will
be comparable to a room full of men,
each armed with a loaded .45.
They can’t get out of the room and
each one is dependent on the good
will of every other one to stay alive.
All offense and no defense. See what
I mean.!*”

I thought about it, but I still

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

didn’t guess fit the diffieulties. It
seemed to me that a peace enforced
by ns was the only way out, with
precautions taken to see that we
controlled the sources of uranium.
1 had the usual American subcon-
scious conviction that our country
would never use power in sheer ag-
gression. Later, I thought about the
Mexican War and the Spanish-
American War and some of the
things we did in Central America,
and 1 was not so sure —

It was a couple of weeks later,
.shortly iifter inauguration day, that
Manning told me to get the chief of
staff’s office on the telephone. I
heard only the tail end of the con-
versation. “No, general, I won’t,”
Manning was saying, “I won’t dis-
cuss it with you, or the secretary,
either. 'Phis is a matter the com-
miinder in chief is going to have to
decide in the long run. If he turns
it down, it is imperative that no one
else ever knows about it. That’s my
considered opinion. . . . What’s that.?
... I took tliis job under the condi-
tion that I was to have a free hand.
You’ve got to give me a little leeway
this time. . . . Don’t go brass hat
on me. I knew you when you were a
plebe. . . . O. K., O. K., sorry. . . .
If the secretary of war won’t listen to
reason, you tell him I’ll be in my seat
in the House of Rpresentatives to-
morrow, and tlnit I’ll get the favor I
want from the majority leader. . . .
All right. ^Cood-by.”

Washington rang up again about
an hour later. It was the secretary
of war. This time Manning listened
more than he talked. Toward the
end, he said, “All I want is thirty
minutes idone with the President. If
nothing comes of it, no harm has
been done. If I convince him, then
you will know all about it. . . . No,
sir, I Inive no desire to embarrass

you. If you prefer, I can have my-
self announced as a congressman,"
then you won’t be responsible. . . .
No, sir, I did not mean that you
would avoid responsibility. I in-
tended to be helpful. . . . Fine!
Thank you, Mr. Secretary.”

The W’hite House rang up later in
the day and set a time.

We drove down to the district
the next day through a nasty cold
rain that threatened to turn to sleet.
The usual congestion in Washington
was made worse by the weather; it
very nearly caused us to be late in
arriving. I could hear Manning
swearing under his breath all the
way down Rhode Island Avenue.
JBut we were dropped at the west
wing entrance to the White House
with two minutes to spare. Man-
ning was ushered into the oval office
almost at once and I was left cooling
my heels and trying to get comforta-
ble in civilian clothes. After so many
months of uniform they itched in the
wrong places.

The thirty minutes went by.

The President’s reception secre-
tary went in, and came out very
promptly Indeed. He stepped on
out into the outer reception room
and I heard something that began
with, “I’m sorry, senator, but — ” He
came back in, made a penciled nota-
tion, and passed it out to an usher.

Two more hours went by.

Manning appeared at the door at
last and the secretary looked re-
lieved. But he did not come out,
saying instead, “Come in, John. The
President wants to take a look at
you.”

I fell over my feet getting up.

Manning said, “Mr. President, this
is Captain deFries.” The President
nodded, and I bowed, unable to say
anything. He was standing on the
hearth rug, his fine head turned to-

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

ward us, and looking just like his
I)iclures — but it seemed strange for
the President of the United States
not to be a tall man.

I had never seen him before,
though, of course, I knew something
of his record the two years he had
been in the Senate and while he was
mayor before that.

'I'he President said, “Sit down, de-
Fries. Care to smoke?” Then to
^Manning, “Yon think he can do it?”

‘T think he’ll have to. It’s Hob-
-son’s choice.”

“And you are sure of him?”

“He was my campaign manager.”

<«T >9 ~

1 see.

The I*resident said nothing more
for a while and God knows I didn’t!
— though I was bursting to know
what they were talking about. He
commenced again, with, “Colonel
Manning, I intend to follow the pro-
ceduie you have suggested, with the
changes we discussed. But I will be
down tomorrow to see for myself
that the dust will do what you say it
will. Can yon prepare a demonstra-
tion?”

“Yes, Air. President.”

“Very well. We will use Captain
deFries unless I think of a better
procedure.” I thought for a mo-
ment that they planned to use me
for a guinea pig! But he turned to
me and continuetl, “Captain, I ex-
pwt to send you to England as my
repre.sentative.”

I gulped. “Yes, Air. President.”
And that is every word I had to say
in calling on tlie President of the
Ihiited States.”

.A ITER THAT, Alaiuiing had to tell
me a lot of things he had on his
inind. I am going to try to relate
them as carefully as pqssible, even at
the risk of l>eing dull and obvious
and of repeating things that are
common knowledge.

AST— 5

We had a weapon that could not
be stopped. Any type of K-0 dust,
scattered over an area rendered that
area uninhabitable for a length of
time that depended on the half-life
of the radioactivity.

Period. Full .stop.

Once an area was dusted there was
nothing that could be done about it
until the radioactivity had fallen off
to the point where it was no longer
harmful. The dust eould not be
cleaned out; it was everywhere.
There was no j>ossible way to eoun-
teract it — burn it, combine it chemi-
cally; the radioactive isotope was
still there, still radioactive, still
deadly. Onee used on a stretch of
land, for a predetermined length of
time that piece of earth wotdd not
tolerate life.

It was extremely simple to use.
No complicated bombsights were
needed, no care need be taken to hit
“military objectives.” Take it aloft
in any sort of aircraft, attain a |K>si-
tion more or less over the area you
wish to sterilize, and drop the stuff.
Those on the ground in the contami-
nated area are dead men, dead in an
hour, a day, a week, a month, de-
pending on the degree of the infec-
tion — but dead.

Manning told me that he had once
seriously considered, in the middle
of the night, recommending that
every single person, including him-
self,, who knew the Karst -Obre tech-
nique be put to death, in the inter-
ests of all civilization. But he had
realized the next day that it had
been sheer funk; the technique was
certain in time to be rediscovered
by someone else.

Furthermore, it would not do to
wait, to refrain from using the grisly
power, until someone else perfected
it and used it. The only jx)ssible
chance to keep the world from being
turned into one huge morgue was for

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

us to use the power first and dras-
tically — get the upper hand and
keep it.

We were not at war, legally, yet
we had been in the war up to our
necks with our weight on the side of
democracy since 1940. Manning had
proposed to the President that we
turn a supply of the dust over to
Oreat Britain, under conditions we
specified, and enable them thereby to
force a peace. But the terms of the
peace would be dictated by the
TJnited States — for we were not turn-
ing over the secret.

After that, the Pax Americana.

The United States was having
power thrust on it, willy-nilly. We
had to accept it and enforce a world-
wide peace, ruthlessly and dras-
tically, or it would be seized by some
other nation. There could not be
coequals in the possession of this
weapon. The factor of time pre-
dominated.

I was selected to handle the de-
tails in England because Manning
insisted, and the President agreed
with him, that every person tech-
nically acquainted with the Karst-
Obre process should remain on the
laboratory reservation in what

amounted to protective cu.stody —
imprisonment. That included Man-
ning himself. I could go becau.se I
did not have the secret — I could not
even have acquired it without years
of schooling — and what I did not
know I could not tell, even under,
well, drugs. We were determined to
keep the secret as long as we could
to consolidate the -pax; we did not
distrust our English copsins, but
they were Britishers, with a first
loyalty to the British Empire. No
need to tempt them.

I was picked because I understood
the background if not the science,
and because Manning trusted me.

don’t know why the President
trusted me, too, but then my job was
not complicated.

We took off from the new field
outside Baltimore on a cold, raw
afternoon which matched my own
feelings. I had an all-gone feeling
in my stomach, a runny no.se, and,
buttoned inside my clothes, papers
appointing me a special agent of the
Pre.sident of the United States,
They were odd papers, papers with-
out precedent; they did not simply
give me the usual diplomatic im-

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

mutiity; they made my person very
nearly as sacred as that of the Presi-
dent himself.

At Nova Scotia we touched ground
to refuel, the F. B. I. men left us, we
took off again, and the Canadian
transfighters took their stations
around us. All the dust we were
sending was :n my plane; if the Presi-
dent’s representative were shot
down, the dust would go to the bot-
tom w ith him.

No need to tell of the crossing. I
was airsick and miserable, in spite of
the steadiness of the new six-engined
jobs. I felt like a hangman on the
way to an execution, and wished to
God that I were a boy again, with
nothing more momentous than a de-
bate contest, or a track meet, to
worry me.

There w'as some fighting around
us as we neared Scotland, I know,
but I could not see it, the cabin be-
ing shuttered. Our pilot-captain ig-
nored it and brought his ship down
on a totally dark field, using a beam,
I suppose, though I did not know nor
care. I would have welcomed a
crash. Then the lights outside went
on and I saw that we had come to
rest in an underground hangar.

I stayed in the ship. The com-
mandant came to see me and ex-
pected me to come to his quarters
as his guest. I shook my head. ‘T
stay here,” I said. “Orders. You
are to treat this ship as United
States soil, you know.”

He seemed miffed, but compro-
mised by having dinner served for
both of us in my ship.

There was a really embarrassing
situation the next day. I was com-
manded to appear for a royal audi-
ence. But I had my instructions
and I stuck to them. I w^as sitting
on that cargo of dust until the Presi-
dent told me what to do with it.
Late in the day I w'as called on by

a member of Parliament — nobody
admitted out loud that it was the
Prime Minister — and a Mr. Wind-
sor. The M. P. did most of the talk-
ing and I answered his questions.
My other guest said very little and
spoke slowdy with some diifficulty.
But I got a very favorable impres-
sion of him. He seemed to be a man
who was carrying a load beyond hu-
man strength and carrying it hero-
ically.

There followed the longest pe-
riod in my life. It was actually only
a little longer than a week, but every
minute of it had that split-second in-
tensity of imminent disaster that
comes just before a car crash. The
President was using the time to try
to avert the need to use the dust.
He had two face-to-face television
conferences with the new Fuehrer.
The President spoke German flu-
ently, which should have helped. He
spoke three times to the warring
peoples themselves, but it is doubt-
ful if very many on the continent
were able to listen, the police regula-
tions there being what they were.

The ambassador for the Reich was
given a special demonstration of the
effect of the dust. He was flown out
over a deserted stretch of Western
prairie and allowed to see what a
single dusting would do to a herd of
steers. It should have impressed
him and I think that it did — nobody
could ignore a visual demonstration!
— but what report he made to his
leader we never knew.

The British Isles were visited re-
peatedly during the wait by bomb-
ing attacks as heavy as any of the
war. I was safe enough but I heard
about them, and I could see the ef-
fect on the morale of the officers with
whom I associated. Not that it
frightened them — it made them
coldly angry. The raids were not

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

directed primarily at dockyards or
factories, but were ruthless destruc-
tion of anything, particularly vil-
lages.

“I don’t see what you chaps are
waiting for,” a flight commander
complained to me. “What the Jer-
ries need is a dose of their own
shreeklichkeit, a lesson in their own
Aryan culture.”

I shook my head. “We’ll have to
do it our own way.”

He dropped the matter, but I
knew how he and his brother officers
felt. They had a standing toast, as
sacred as the toast to the King:
“Remember Coventry!”

Our President had stipulated that
the R. A. F. was not to bomb during
the period of negotiation, but their
bombers were busy nevertheless.
The continent was showered, night
after night, with bales of leaflets,
prepared by our own propaganda
agents. The first of these called on
the people of the Reich to stop a use-
less war and promised that the terms
of peace would not be vindictive.
The second rain of pamphlets showed
photographs of that herd of steers.
The third was a simple direct warn-
ing to get out of cities and to stay
out.

As Manning put it, we were call-
ing “Halt!” three times before firing.
I do not think that he or the Presi-
dent expected it to work, but we
were morally obligated to try.

The Britishers had installed for
me a televisor, of the Simonds-Yar-
ley nonintercept type, the sort
whereby the receiver must “trigger”
the transmitter in order for transmis-
sion to take place at all. It made
assurance of privacy in diplomatic
rapid communication for the first
time in history, and was a real help
in the crisis. I had brought along
my own technician, one of the

F. B. I.’s new corps of specialists, to
handle the scrambler and the trigger.
He called to me one afternoon.
“Washington signaling.”

I climbed tiredly out of the cabin
and down to the booth on the hangar
floor, wondering if it were another
false alarm.

It was the President. His lips
were white. “Carry out your basic
instructions, Mr. deFries.”

“Yes, Mr. President!”

The details had been worked out
in advance and, once I had accepted
a receipt and token payment from
the commandant for the dust, my
duties were finished. But, at our in-
stance, the British had invited mili-
tary observers from every independ-
ent nation and from the several pro-
visional governments of occupied na-
tions. The United States ambassa-
dor designated me as one at the re-
quest of Manning.

Our task group was thirteen bomb-
ers. One such bomber could have
carried all the dust needed, but it
was split up to insure most of it, at
least, reaching its destination. I had
fetched forty percent more dust than
Ridpath calculated would be needed
for the mission and my last job was
to see to it that every canister actu-
ally went on board a plane of the
flight. The extremely small weight
of dust used was emphasized to each
of the military observers.

We took off just at dark, climbed
to twenty-five thousand feet, re-
fueled in the air, and climbed again.
Our escort was waiting for us, hav-
ing refueled thirty minutes before
us. The flight split into thirteen
groupSj and cut the thin air for mid-
dle Europe. The bombers we rode
had been stripped and hiked up to
permit the utmost maximum of
speed and altitude.

Elsewhere in England, other flights

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

had taken off shortly before us to
act as a diversion. Their destina-
tions were every part of Germany;
it was the intention to create such
confusion in the air above the Reich
that our few planes actually engaged
in the serious work might well escape
attention entirely, flying so high in
the stratosphere.

The thirteen dust carriers ap-
proached Berlin from different direc-
tions, planning to cross Berlin as if
following the spokes of a wheel. The
night was appreciably clear and we
had a low moon to help us. Berlin is
not a hard city to locate, since it has
the largest square-mile area of any
modern city and is located on a
broad flat alluvial plain. ’ I could
make out the River Spree as we ap-
proached it, and the Havel. The
city was blacked out, but a city
makes a different sort of black from
open country. Parachute flares
luing over the city in many places,
showing that the R. A. F. had been
busy before we got there and the
A. A. batteries on the ground helped
to pick out the city.

There was fighting below us, but
not within fifteen thousand feet of
our altitude as nearly as I could
judge.

The pilot reported to the captain,
“On line of bearing!” The chap
working the absolute altimeter
steadily fed his data into - the fuse
pots of the canister. The canisters
were equipped with a light charge
of black powder, sufficient to explode
them and scatter the dust at a time
after release predetermined by the
fu.se iK)t setting. The method used
was no more than an efficient expe-
dient. The dust would have been
almost as effective had it simply
been dumped ou*^ in paper bags, al-
though not as well distributed.

The captain hwng over the naviga-
tor’s board, a slight frown on his thin

sallow face. “Ready one!” reported
the bomber.

“Release!”

“Ready two!”

The captain studied his wrist
watch. “Release!” **

“Ready three!”

“Release!”

When the last of our ten little
packages was out of the ship we
turned tail and ran for home.

No ARRANGEMENTS had been made
for me to get home; nolM)dy had
thought about it. But it was the
one thing I wanted to do. I did not
feel badly; I did not feel much of
anything. I felt like a man who has
at last screwed up his courage and
undergone a serious operation; it’s
over now, he is still numb from shock
but his mind is relaxed. But I
wanted to go home.

The British commandant was
quite decent about it; he .serviced
and manned my ship at once and
gav'e me an escort for the offshore
war zone. It was an exj)ensive way
to send one man home, but who
cared? We had just expended some
millions of lives in a desperate at-
tempt to end the war; what was a
money expense? He gave the neces-
sary orders absentmindedly.

I took a double dose of nembutal
and woke up in Canada. I tried to
get some news while the plane was
being serviced, but there was not
much to be had. The government of
the Reich had issued one official
news bulletin shortly after the raid,
sneering at the much vaunted “.secret
weapon” of the British and .stating
that a major air attack had been
made on Berlin and several other
cities, but that the raiders had been
driven off with only minor damage.
T-he current Lord Haw-Haw started
one of his sarcastic speedies but was
unable to continue it. The an-

7 *

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

nouncer said that he had been seized
with a heart attack, and substituted
some recordings of patriotic music.
The station cut off in the middle of
the “Horst Wessel” song. After
that there was silence.

I managed to promote an army
car and a driver at the Baltimore
field which made short work of the
Annapolis speedway. We almost
overran the turnoff to the labora-
tory.

Manning was in his office. He
looked up as I came in, said, “Hello,
John,” in a dispirited voice, and
dropped his eyes again to the blotter
pad. He went back to drawing
doodles.

I looked him over and realized for
the first time that the chief was an
old man. His face was gray and
flabby, deep furrows framed his
mouth in a triangle. His clothes did
not fit.

I went up to him and put a hand
on his shoulder. “Don’t take it so
hard, chief. It’s not your fault. We
gave them all the warning in the
world.”

He looked up again. “Estelle
Karst suicided this morning.”

A^iylbody could Jiave anticipated
it, but nobody did. And somehow
I felt harder hit by her death than
by the death of all those strangers in
Berlin. “How did she do it?” I
asked.

“Dust. She went into the canning
room, and took off her armor.”

I could picture her — head held
high, eyes snapping, and that set
look on her mouth which she got
when people did something she dis-
approved of. One little old woman
whose lifetime work had been turned
against her.

“I wish,” Manning added slowly,
“that I could explain to her why we
had to do it.”

We buried her in a lead-lined cof-

fin, then Manning and I went on to
Washington.

While we were there, we saw the
motiop pictures that had been made
of the death of Berlin. You have
not seen them; they never were made
public, but they were of ^eat use in
convincing the other nations of the
world that peace was a good idea.
I saw them when Congress did, being
allowed in because I was Manning’s
assistant.

They had been made by a pair of
R. A. F. pilots, who had dodged the
Lujtwaffe to get them. The first
shots showed some of the main
streets the morning after the raid.
Th6re was not much to see that
would show up in telephoto shots,
just busy and crowded streets, but
if you looked closely you could see
that there had been an excessive
number of automobile accidents.

The second day showed the at-
tempt to evacuate. The inner
squares of the city were practically
deserted save for bodies and wrecked
cars, but the streets leading out of
town were boiling with people,
mostly on foot, for the trams were
out of service. The pitiful creatures
were fleeing, not knowing that death
was already lodged inside them. The
plane swooped down at one point
and the cinematographer had his
telephoto lens pointed directly into
the face of a young woman for sev-
eral seconds. She stared back at it
with a look too woebegone to forget,
then stumbled and fell.

She may have been trampled. I
hope so. One of those six horses had
looked like that when the stuff was
beginning to hit his vitals.

The last sequence showed Berlin
and the roads around it a week after
the raid. The city was dead, there
was not a man, a woman, a child —
nor cats, nor dogs, not even a pigeon.

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

Bodies were all around, but they
were safe from rats. There were no
rats.

'J’he roads around Berlin were
quiet now. Scattered carelessly on
shoulders and in ditches, and to a
lesser extent on the pavement itself,
like coal shaken off a train, were the
quiet heaps that had been the citi-
zens of the capital of the Reich.
'J'here is no use in talking about it.

But, so far as I am concerned, I
left what soul I had in that projec-
tion room and I have not had one
since.

The two pilots who made the pic-
tures eventually died — systemic, cu-
mulative infection, dust in the air
over Berlin. With precautions it
need not have happened, but the
English did not believe, as yet, that
our extreme precautions were neces-
sary.

The Reich took about a week to
fold up. It might have taken longer
if the new Fuehrer had not gone to
Berlin the day after the raid to
“prove” that the British boasts had
been hollow. There is no need to
recount the provisional governments
that Germany had in the following
several months; the only one we are
concerned with is the so-called re-
stored monarchy which used a cousin
of the old Kaiser as a symbol, the
one that sued for peace.

Then the trouble started.

When the Prime Minister an-
nounced the terms of the private
agreement he had had with our
President, he was met with a silence
that was broken only by cries of
“Shame! Shame! Resign!” I sup-
pose it was inevitable; the Gammons
reflected the spirit of a people who
had been unmercifully punished for
four years. They were in a mood to
enforce a peace that would have

made the Versailles Treaty look like
the Beatitudes.

The vote of no confidence left the
Prime Minister no choice. Forty-
eight hours later the King made a
speech from the throne that vio-
lated all constitutional precedent, for
it had not been written by a Prime
INIinister. In this greatest crisis in
his reign, his voice was clear and un-
labored; it sold the idea to England
and a national coalition government
was formed.

I don’t know whether we would
have dusted London to enforce our
terms or not; Manning thinks we
would have done so. I suppose it de-
pended on the character of the Presi-
dent of the United States, and there ~
is no way of knowing about that
since we did not have to do it.

The United States, and in par-
ticular the President of the United
States, was confronted by two ines-
capable problems. First, we had to
consolidate our position at once, use
our temporary advantage of an over-
whelmingly powerful weapon to in-
sure that such a weapon would not
be turned on us. Second, some
means had to be worked out to sta-
bilize American foreign policy so
that it could handle the tremendous
power we had suddenly had thrust
upon us.

The second was by far the most
difficult and .serious. If we were to
establish a reasonably permanent
peace — say a century or so — ^through
a monopoly on a weapon so power-
ful that no one dare fight us, it was
imperative that the policy under
which we acted be more lasting than
passing political administrations.
But more of that later —

The first problem had to be at-
tended to at once — time was the
heart of it. The emergency lay in
the very simplicity of the weapon.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

It required nothing but aircraft to
scatter it and the dust itself, which
was easily and quickly made by any-
one possessing the secret of the
Karst-Obre process and having ac-
cess to a small supply of uranium-
bearing ore.

But the Karst-Obre process was
simple and might be independently
developed at any time. Manning re-
ported to the President that it was
Ridpath’s opinion, concurred in by
Manning, that the staff of any mod-
ern radiation laboratory should be
able to work out an equivalent tech-
nique in six weeks, working from the
hint given by the events in Berlin
alone, and should then be able to
produce enough dust to cause major
destruction in another six weeks.

Ninety days — ninety days 'pro-
vided they started from scratch and
were not already halfway to their
goal. Less than ninety days — per-
haps no time at all —

By this time Manning was an un-
official member of the cabinet; “Sec-
retary of Dust,” the President called
him in one of his rare jovial moods.
As for me, well, I attended cabinet
meetings, too. As the only layman
who had seen the whole show from
beginning to end, the President
wanted me there.

I am an ordinary sort of man who,
by a concatenation of improbabili-
Ijes, found himself shoved into the
councils of the rulers. But I found
that the rulers were ordinary men,
too, and frequently as bewildered as
I was.

But Manning was no ordinary
man. In him ordinary hard sense
had been raised to the level of genius.
Oh, yes, I know that it is popular to
blame everything on him and to call
him everything from traitor to mad
dog, but I still think he was both
wise and benevolent. I don’t care

how many second-guessing histori-
ans disagree with me.

“I PROPOSE,” said Manning, “that
we begin by immobilizing all aircraft
throughout the world.”

The secretary of commerce raised
his brows. “Aren’t you,” he said,
“being a little fantastic. Colonel
Manning.^”

“No, I’m not,” answered Manning
shortly. “I’m being realistic. The
key to this problem is aircraft.
Without aircraft the dust is an in-
efficient weapon. The only way I
see to gain time enough to deal with
the whole problem is to ground all
aircraft and put them out of opera-
tion. All aircraft, that is, not actu-
ally in the service of the United
States army. After that we can deal
with complete world disarmament
and permanent methods of control.”
“Really now,” replied the secre-
tary, “you' are not projxjsing that
commercial airlines be put out of
operation. They are an essential
part of world economy. It would be
an intolerable nuisance.”

“Getting killed is an intolerable
nuisance, too,” Manning answered
stubbornly. “I do propose just that.
All aircraft. All.”

The President had been listening
without comment to the discussion.
He now cut in. “How about air-
craft on which some groups depend
to stay alive, colonel, such as the
Alaskan lines?”

“If there are such, they must be
operated by American army pilots
and crews. No exceptions.”

The secretary of commerce looked
startled. “Am I to infer from that
last remark that you intended this
prohibition to apply to the United
States as well as other nations?”
“Naturally.”

“But that’s impossible. It’s un-

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

constitutional. It violates civil
rights.”

“Killing a man violates his civil
rights, too,” Manning answered
stubbornly.

“You can't do it. .Any Federal
court in the country would enjoin
you in five minutes.”

“It seems to me,” said Manning
slowly, “that Andy Jackson gave us
a good precedent for that one when
he told John Marshall to go fly a
kite.” He looked slowly around the
table at faces that ranged from un-
decided to antagonistic. “The issue
is sharp, gentlemen, and we might
as well drag it out in the open. We
can be dead men, with everything in
due order, constitutional, and tech-
nically correct; or we can do what
has to be done, stay alive, and try
to straighten out the legal aspects
later.” He sl ut up and waited.

The secretary of labor picked it
up. “T don’t think the colonel has
any corner on realism. I think I see
the problem, too, and I admit it is a
serious one. The dust must nev'er be
used again. Had I known about it
soon enough, it would never have
been lused on Berlin. And I agree
that .some sort of world-wide control
is necessary. But where I differ
with the colonel is in the method.
What he proposes is a military dic-
tatorship imposed by force on the
whole world. Admit it, colonel.
Isn’t that what you are proposing.?”

Manning did not dodge it. “That
is what I am proposing.”

“'I'hanks. Now we know where
we stand. I, for one, do not regard
democratic measures and constitu-
tional procedure as of so little impor-
tance that I am willing to jettison
them any time it becomes conv'en-
ient. To me, democracy is more
than a matier of expediency, it is a
faith. Either it works, or I go un-
der with it.”

“What do you propose?” asked the
President.

“I propose that we treat this as
an opportunity to create a world-
wide democratic commonwealth! Let
us use our present dominant posi-
tion to issue a call to all nations to
send representatives to a conference
to form a world constitution.”

“League of Nations,” I heard
some one mutter.

“No!” he answered the side re-
mark. “Not a League of Nations.
The old League was helpless because
it had no real existence, no power.
It was not implemented to enforce
its decisions; it was just a debating
society, a sham. This would be dif-
ferent for we would turn ov^ the
dust to it!"

Nobody spoke for some minutes.
You could see them turning it over
in their minds, doubtful, partially
approving, intrigued but dubious.

“I’d like to answer that,” said
Manning.

“Go ahead,” said the President.

“I will. I’m going to have to u.se
some pretty plain language and f
hope that Secretary Lamer will do
me the honor of believing that I
speak so from sincerity and deep
concern and not from personal pique.

“I think a world democracy would
be a very fine thing and I ask that
you believe me when I say I would
willingly lay down my life to ac-
complish it. I also think it would
be a very fine thing for the lion to lie
down with the lamb, but I am rea-
sonably certain that only the lion
would get up. li we try to form an
actual world democracy, we’ll l)e the
lamb in the set-up.

“There are a lot, of -good, kindly
people who are internationalists
these days. Nine out of ten of them
are .soft in the head and the tenth is
ignorant. If we set up a world wide

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

democracy, what will the electorate
t be? Take a look at the facts: Four

g' hundred million Chinese with no

^ more concept of voting and citizen

i responsibility than a flea. Three

t hundred million Hindus who aren’t

R much better indoctrinated. God

p knows how many in the Eurasian

Union who believe in God knows
I what. The entire continent of

B Africa only semicivilized. Eighty

P million Japanese who really believe

It that they are Heaven-ordained to

I rule. Our Spanish-American friends

E who might trail along with us and

might not, but who don’t understand
t the Bill of Rights the way we think

I of it. A quarter of a billion people

^ of two dozen different nationalities

S in Europe, all with revenge and black

t' hatred in their hearts.

% “No, it won’t wash. It’s prepos-
^ terous to talk about a world democ-
I ■ racy for many years to come. If you
[ turn the secret of the dust over to
{ such a body, you will be arming the
I whole world to commit suicide.”

; Lamer answered at once. “I
could resent some of your remarks,
but I won’t. To put it bluntly, I
; consider the source. The trouble
with you. Colonel Manning, is that
you are a professional soldier and
have no faith in people. Soldiers
f may be necessary, but the worst of
them are martinets and the best are
; merely paternalistic.” There was
■' quite a lot more of the same.

^ Manning stood it until his turn
c came again. “Maybe I am all those
\ things, but you haven’t met my
^ argument. What are you going to
I do about the hundreds of millions of
I people who have no experience in,
I nor love for, democracy? Now, per-
K haps, I don’t have the same concep-
K tion of democracy as yourself, but I
ft do know this: Out west there are a
K couple of hundred thousand people
ft. who sent me to Congress. I am not

going to stand quietly by and let a
course be followed which I think will
result in their deaths or utter ruin.

“Here is the probable future, as I
see it, potential in the smashing of
the atom and the development of
lethal artificial radioactives. Some
power makes a supply of the dust.
They’ll hit us first to try to knock us
out and give them a free hand. New
York and Washington overnight,
then all of our industrial areas while
we are still politically and economi-
cally disorganized. But our army
would not be in those cities; we
would have planes and a supply of
dust somewhere where the first dust-
ing wouldn’t touch them. Our boys
would bravely and righteously pro-
ceed to poison their big cities. Back
and forth it would go until the or-
ganization of each country had
broken down so completely that they
were no longer able to maintain a
sufficiently high level of industriali-
zation to service planes and manu-
facture dust. That presupposes
starvation and plague in the process.
You can fill in the details.

“The other nations would get in
the game. It would be silly and
suicidal, of course, but it doesn’t take
brains to take a hand in this. All it
takes is a very small group, hungry
for power, a few airplanes and a
supply of dust. It's a vicious circle
that can not possibly be stopped un-
til the entire planet has dropped to a
level of economy too low to support
the techniques necessary to maintain
it. My best guess is that such a
point would be reached when ap-
proximately three-quarters of the
world’s population were dead of
dust, disease, or hunger, and culture
reduced to the peasant-and-village
type.

“Where is your Constitution and
your Bill of Rights if you let that
happen?”

SOLITION UNSATISFACTORY

IVe shortened it down, but that
was the gist of it. I can’t hope to
record every word of an argument
that went on for days.

The secretary of the navy took a
crack at him next. “Aren’t you get-
ting a bit hysterical, colonel.^ After
*11, the world has seen a lot of weap-
ons which were going to make war
an impossibility too horrible to con-
template. Poison gas, and tanks,
and airplanes — even firearms, if I
remember my history.’’

Manning smiled wryly. “You’ve
made a point, Mr. Secretary. ‘And
when the wolf really came, the little
boy shouted in vain.’ I imagine the
Chamber of Commerce in Pompeii
presented the same reasonable argu-
ment to any early vulcanologist so
timid as to fear Vesuvius. I’ll try
to justify my fears. The dust differs
from every earlier weapon in its
deadliness and ease of use, but most
importantly in that we have de-
veloped no defense against it. For a
number of fairly technical reasons, I
don’t think we ever will, at least not
this century.”

“Why not?”

“Because there is no way to coun-
teract radioactivity short of putting
a lead shield between yourself and
it, an air-tight lead shield. People
might survive by living in sealed un-
derground cities, but our character-
istic American culture could not be
maintained.”

“Colonel Manning,” suggested the
secretary of state, “I think you have
overlooked the obvious alternative.”

“Have I?”

“Yes — to keep the dust as our own
secret, go our own way, and let the
rest of the world look out for itself.
That is the only program that fits
our traditions.” The secretary of
state was really a fine old gentleman,
and not stupid, but he was slow to
assimilate new ideas.

“Mr. Secretary,” said Manning re-
spectfully, “I wish we could afford
to mind our own business. I do
wish we could. But it is the best
opinion of all the experts that we
can’t maintain control of this secret
except by rigid policing. The Ger-
mans were close on our heels in nu-
clear research; it was sheer luck that
we got there first. I ask you to
imagine Germany a year hence —
with a supph' of dust.”

The secretary did not answer, but
I saw his lips form the word Berlin.

They came around. The Presi-
dent had deliberately let Manning
bear the brunt of the argument, con-
serving his own stock of goodwill to
coax the obdurate. He decided
against putting it up to Congress;
the dusters would have been over-
head before each senator had fin-
ished his say. ^Miat he intended to
dp might be unconstitutional, but if
he failed to act there might not be
any Constitution shortly. There
was precedent — the Emancipation
Proclamation, the Monroe Doctrine,
the Louisiana Purchase, suspension
of habeas corpus in the War between
the States, the Destroyer Deal.

On February 22nd the President
declared a state of full emergency in-
ternally and sent his Peace Procla-
mation to the head of every sover-
eign state. Divested of its diplo-
matic surplusage, it said: The

United States is prepared to defeat
any power, or combination of pow-
ers, in jig time. Accordingly, we
are outlawing war and are calling on
every nation to disarm completely at
once. In other words, “Throw down
your guns, boys; we’ve got the drop
on you!”

A supplement set forth the pro-
cedure: All aircraft capable of flying
the Atlantic were to be delivered in
one week’s time to a field, or rather a

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

great stretch of prairie, just west of
Fort Riley, Kansas. For lesser air-
craft, a spot near Shanghai and a
rendezvous in Wales were desig-
nated. Memoranda would be issued
later with respect to other war equip-
ment. Uranium and its ores were
not mentioned; that would come
later.

No excuses. Failure to disarm
w’ould be construed as an act of war
against the United States.

There wtcre no cases of apoplexy
in the Senate; why not, I don’t know.

There were only three powers to
be seriously worried about, England,
Japan, and the Eurasian Union.
England had been forewarned, we
bad pulled her out of a war she was
losing, and she — or rather her men
in power — knew accurately what we
could and would do.

Japan was another matter. They
had not seen Berlin and they did not
really believe it. Besides, they had
been telling each other for so many
years that they were unbeatable,
they believed it. It does not do to
get too tough with a Japanese too
quickly, for they will die rather than
lose face. The negotiations were
conducted very quietly indeed, but
our fleet was halfway from Pearl
Harbor to Kobe, loaded with enough
du.st to sterilize their six biggest
cities, before they were concluded.
Do you know what did it.? This
never hit the newspapers but it was
the wording of the pamphlets we
proposed to scatter before dusting.

The Emperor was pleased to de-
clare a New Order of Peace. The
official version, built up for home
consumption, made the whole matter
one of collaboration between two
great and friendly powers, with
Japan taking the initiative.

The Eurasian Union was a puz-
zle. After Stalin’s unexpected death

in 1941, no western nation knew
very much about what went on in
there. Our own diplomatic rela-
tions had atrophied through failurd
to replace men called home nearly
four years before. Everybody knew,
of course, that the new group in
power called themselves Fifth In-
ternationalists, but what that meant,
aside from ceasing to display the pic-
tures of Lenin and Stalin, nobody
knew.

But they agreed to our terms and
offered to co-operate in every way.
They pointed out that the Union had
never been warlike and had kept out
of the recent world struggle. It wa.s
fitting that the two remaining great
powers should use their greatness to
insure a lasting peace.

I was delighted; I had been wor-
ried about the E. U.

They commenced delivery of some
of their smaller planes to the receiv-
ing station near Shanghai at once.
The reports on the number and
quality of the planes seemed to in-
dicate that they had stayed out of
the war through necessity; the planes
were mostly of German make and in
poor condition, types that Germany
had abandoned early in the war.

Manning went west to supei^ise
certain details in connection with im-
mobilizing the big planes, the trans-
oceanic planes, which were to gather
near Fort Riley. We planned to
spray them with oil, then dust from
a low altitude, as in crop dusting,
with a low concentration of one-year
dust. Then we could turn our backs
on them and forget them, while at-
tending to other matters.

But there were hazards. The dust
must not be allowed to reach Kan-
sas City, Lincoln, Witchita, any of
the nearby cities. The smaller towns
roundabout had been temporarily
evacuated. Testing stations needed
to be set up in all directions in order

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

Some Hew too low, and died
by the poison they dropped. '

that accurate tab on the dust might
be kept. Manning felt personally
responsible to make sure that no by-
stander was poisoned.

We circled the receiving station
before landing at Fort Riley. I could
pick out the three landing fields
which had hurriedly been graded.
Their runways were white in the sun,
twenty-four-hour cement as yet
undirtied. Around each of the land-
ing fields were crowded dozens of
parking fields, less perfectly graded.
Tractors and bulldozers were still at
work on some of them. In the east-
ernmost fields, the German and Brit-
ish ships were already in place,
jammed wing to body as tightly as
planes on the flight deck of a carrier
— save for a few that were still be-
ing towed into position, the tiny
tractors looking from the air like
ants dragging pieces of leaf many
times larger than themselves.

Only three flying fortresses had
arrived from the Eurasian Union.
Their representatives had asked for a
short delay in order that a supply
of high-test aviation gasoline might

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FTCTION

be delivered to them. They claimed
a shortage of fuel necessary to make
the long flight over the Arctic safe.
There was no way to check the claim
and the delay was granted while a
.shipment was routed from England.

We were about to leave. Manning
having satisfied himself as to safety
precautions, when a dispatch came
in announcing that a flight of E. U.
bombers might be expected before
the day was out. Manning wanted
to see them arrive; we waited around
for four hours. When it was finally
reported that our escort of fighters
had picked them up at the Canadian
border. Manning appeared to have
grown fidgety and stated that he
would watch them from the air. We
took off, gained altitude and waited.

There were nine of them in the
flight, cruising in column of echelons
and looking so huge that our little
fighters were hardly noticeable.
They circled the field and I was ad-
miring the stately dignity of them
when Manning’s pilot. Lieutenant
Rafferty, exclaimed, “What the
devil! They are preparing to land
downwind!”

I still did not tumble, but Man-
ning shouted to the co-pilot, “Get
the field!”

He fiddled with his instruments
and announced, “Got ’em, sir!”

“General alarm! Armor!”

We could not hear the sirens, nat-
urally, but I could see the white
plumes rise from the big steam whis-
tle on the roof of the AdministraJtion
Building — three long blasts, then
three short ones. It seemed almost
at the same time that the first cloud
broke from the E. U. planes.

Instead of landing, they passed
low over the receiving station, jam-
packed now with ships from all over
the world. Each echelon picked one
of three groups centered around the

three landing fields and streamers of
heavy brown smoke poured from
the bellies of the E. U. ships. I saw
a tiny black figure jump from a trac-
tor and run toward the nearest build-
ing. Then the smoke screen ob-
scured the field.

“Do you still have the field.^” de-
manded Manning.

“Yes, sir.”

“Cross connect to the chief safety
technician. Hurry!”

The co-pilot cut in the amplifier
so that Manning could talk directly.
“Saunders? This is Manning. How
about it?”

“Radioactive, chief. Intensity
seven point four.”

They had paralleled the Karst-
Obre research.

Manning cut him off and de-
manded that the communication
office at the field raise the chief of
staff. There was nerve-stretching
delay, for it had to be routed over
landwire to Kansas City, and some
chief operator had to be convinced
that she should commandeer a trunk
line that was in commercial use. But
we got through at last and Manning
made his report. “It stands to rea-
son,” I heard him say, “that other
flights are approaching the border
by this time. New York, of course,
and Washington. Probably Detroit
and Chicago as well. No way of
knowing.”

The chief of staff cut off abruptly,
without comment. I knew that the
U. S. air fleets, in a state of alert for
weeks past, would have their orders
in a few- seconds, and would be on
their way to hunt out and down the
attackers, if possible before they
could reach the cities.

' I glanced back at the field. The
formations were broken up. One of
the E. U. bombers was down,
crashed, half a mile beyond the sta-

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

tion. While I watched, oae of our
midget dive bombers screamed down
on a behemoth E. U. ship and un-
loaded his eggs. It was a center hit,
but the American pilot had cut it too
fine, could not pull out, and crashed
before his victim.

There is no point in rehashing the
newspaper stories of the Four-days
War. The point is that we should
have lost it, and we would have, had
it not been for an unlikely combina-
tion of luck, foresight and good man-
agement. Apparently, the nuclear
physicists of the Eurasian Union
were almost as far along as Rid-
path’s crew when the destruction of
Berlin gave them the tip they
needed. But we had rushed them,
forced them to move before they
were ready, because of the deadline
for disarmament set forth in our
Peace Proclamation.

If the President had waited to
fight it out with Congress before is-
suing the proclamation, there would
not be any United States.

Manning never got credit for it,
hut it is evident to- me that he antici-
pated the possibility of something
like the Four-days War and prepared
for it in a dozen different devious
ways. I don’t mean military prepa-
ration; the army and the navy saw
to that. But it was no accident that
Congress was adjourned at the time,
I had something to do with the vote-
swapping and compromising that led
up to it, and I know.

But I put it to you — would he
have maneuvered to get Congress
out of W’ashington at a time when
he feared that Washington might be
attacked if he had had dictatorial
ambitions?

Of course, it was the President
who was back of the ten-day leaves
that had been granted to most of the
civil-service personnel in Washing-

ton and he himself must have made
the decision to take a swing through
the South at that time, but it must
have been Manning who put the idea
in his head. It is inconceivable that
the President would have left Wash-
ington to escape personal danger.

And then, there was the plague
scare. I don’t know how or when
Manning could have started that —
it certainly did not go through my
notebook — but I simply do not be-
lieve that it was accidental that a
completely unfounded rumor of bu-
bonic plague caused New York City
to be semi-deserted at the time the
E. U. bombers struck.

At that, we lost over eight hun-
dred thousand people in Manhattan
alone.

Of course, the government was
blamed for the lives that were lost
and the papers were merciless in
their criticism at the failure to an-
ticipate and force an evacuation of
all the major cities.

If Manning anticipated trouble,
why did he not ask for evacuation?

Well, as I see it, for this reason:

A big city will not, never has,
evacuated in response to rational
argument. London never was evaeu-
ated on any major- scale and we
failed utterly in our attempt to force
the evacuation of Berlin. The peo-
ple of New York City had consid-
ered the danger of air raids since
1940 and were long since hardened
to the thought.

But the fear of a nonexistent epi-
demic of plague caused the most
nearly complete evacuation of a
major city ever seen.

And don’t forget what we did to
Vladivostok and Irkutsk and Mos-
cow — those were innocent people,
too. War isn’t pretty.

I said luck played a part. It was
bad navigation that cau^ one of

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

our ships to dust Ryazan instead of
Moscxjw, but that mistake knocked
out the laboratory and plant which
produced the only supply of military
radioactives in the Eurasian Union.
Suppose the mistake had been the
other way ai'ound — suppose that one
of the E. U. ships in attacking Wash-
ington, D. C., by mistake, had in-
cluded Ridpath’s shop forty-five
miles away in Maryland?

Congress reconvened at the tem-
porarj' capital in St. Louis, and the
American Pacification Expedition
started the job of pulling the fangs
of the Eurasian Union. It was not
a military occupation in the usual
sense; there were two simple objec-
tives, to search out and dust all air-
craft, aircraft plants, and fields, and
to locate and dust radiation labora-
tories, uranium supplies, and lodes
of carnotite and pitchblende. No
attempt was made to interfere with,
or to replace, civil government.

We used a two-year dust, which
gave a breathing spell in which to
consolidate our position. Liberal re-
wards were offered to informers, a
technique which worked remarkably
well not only in the E. U., but in
most parts of the world.

The “weasel,” an instrument to
smell out radiation, based on the
electroscope-discharge principle and
refined by Ridpath’s staff, greatly
facilitated the work of locating
uranium and uranium ores. A grid
of weasels, properly spaced over a
suspect area, could locate any im-
portant mass of uranium almost as
handily as a direction-finder can spot
a radio station.

But, notwithstanding the excellent
work of General Bulfinch and the
Pacification Expedition as a whole,
it was the original mistake of dust-
ing Ryazan that made the job pos-
sible of accomplishment.

Anyone interested in the details
of the pacification work done in
1945-6 should see the “Proceedings
of the American Foundation for So-
cial Research” for a paper entitled,
A Sttidy of the Execution of the
American Peace Policy from Febru-
ary, 1945. The de. facto solution of
the problem of policing the world
against war left the United States
with the much greater problem of
perfecting a policy that would insure
that the deadly power of the dust
would never fall into unfit hands.

The problem is as easy to state as
the problem of squaring the circle
and almost as impossible of accom-
plishment. Both Manning and the
President believed that the Lmited
States must of necessity keep the
power for the time being until some
permanent institution could be de-
veloped fit to retain it. The hazard
was this: Foreign policy is lodged
jointly in the hands of the President
and the Congress. We were fortu-
nate at the time in having a good
President and an adequate Congi-ess,
but that was no guarantee for the fu-
ture. We have had unfit Presidents
and power-hungry Congresses — oh,
yes! Read the history of the Mexi-
can War.

We were about to hand over to
future governments of the United
States the power to turn the entire
globe into an empire, our empire.
And it was the sober opinion of the
President that our characteristic and
■ beloved democratic culture would
not stand up under the temptation.
Imperialism degrades both oppressor
and oppressed.

The President was determined
that our sudden power .should be
used for the absolute minimum of
maintaining peace in the world — the
simple purpose of outlawing war and
nothing else. It must not be used
to protect American investments

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

abroad, to coerce trade agreements,
for any purpose but the simple abo-
lition of mass killing.

There is no science of sociology.
Perhaps there will be, some day,
when a rigorous physics gives a fin-
ished science of colloidal chemistry
and that leads in turn to a complete
knowledge of biology, and from there
to a definitive psychology. After
that we may begin to know some-
thing about sociology and politics.
Sometime around the year 5,000
A. D., maybe — if the human race
does not commit suicide before then.

Until then, there is only horse
.sense and rule of thumb and observa-
tional knowledge of probabilities.
Manning and the President played
by ear.

The treaties with Great Britain,
Germany and the Eurasian Union,
whereby we assumed the responsi-
bility for w'orld peace and at the
same time guaranteed the contract-
ing nations against our own misuse
of .power were rushed through in the
period of relief and good will that
immediately followed the termina-
tion of the Four-days War. We fol-
lowed the precedents established by
the Panama Canal treaties, the Suez
Canal agreements, and the Philip-
pine Independence policy.

But the purpose underneath was
to commit future governments of the
United States to an irrevocable
benevolent policy.

The act to implement the treaties
by creating the Commission of
World Safety followed soon after,
and Colonel Manning became Mr.
Commissioner Manning. Commis-
.sioners had a life tenure and the in-
tention was to create a body with the
integrity, permanence and freedom
from outside pressure possessed by
the supreme court of the United

AST— 6

States. Since the treaties contem-
plated an eventual joint trust com-
missioners need not be American
citizens — and the oath they took was
to 'preserve the peace of the world.

There was trouble getting that
clause past the Congress! Every
other similar oath had been to the
Constitution of the United States.

Nevertheless the Commission was
formed, it took charge of world air-
craft, assumed jurisdiction over ra-
dioactives, natural and artificial, and
commenced the long slow task of
building up the Peace Patrol.

Manning envisioned a corps of
w’orld policemen, an aristocracy
which through selection and indoc-
trination, could be trusted with un-
limited power over the life of every
man, every woman, every child on
the face of the globe. For the power
ivould be unlimited; the precautions
necessary to insure the unbeatable
weapon from getting loose in the
world again made it axiomatic that
its custodians would wield power
that is safe only in the hands of
Diety. There would be no one to
guard those selfsame guardians.
Their own characters and the watch
they kept on each other would be all
that stood between the race and
disaster.

For the first time in history, su-
preme political power was to be ex-
erted with no possibility of checks
and balances from the outside.
Manning took up the task of per-
fecting it with a dragging subron-
scious conviction that it was too
much for human nature.

The rest of the Commission was
appointed slowly, the names being
sent to the Senate after long joint
consideration by the President and
Manning, 'fhe director of the Red
Cross, an obscure little professor of
history from Switzerland, Dr. Igor

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Rimski who had developed the
Karst-Obre technique independently
and whom the A. P. F. had discov-
ered in prison after the dusting of
INIoscow — those three were the only
foreigners. The rest of the list is
well known.

Ridpath and his staff were of ne-
cessity the original technical crew of
the Commission; United States army
and navy pilots its first patrolmen.
Not all of the pilots available were
needed; their records were searched,
their habits and associates investi-
gated, their mental processes and
emotional attitudes examined by the
best psychological research methods
available — which weren’t good
enough. Their final acceptance for
the Patrol depended on two per-
sonal interviews, one with Manning,
one with the President.

Manning told me that he de-
pended more on the President’s feel-
ing for character than he did on all
the association and reaction tests the
psychologists could think up. “It’s
like the nose of a bloodhound,’’ he
said. “In his forty years of practi-
cal politics he has seen more phonies
than you and I will ever see and each
one was trying to sell him something.
He can tell one in the dark.’’

The long-distance plan included
the schools for the indoctrination of
cadet patrolmen, schools that were
to be open to youths of any race,
color, or nationality, and from which
they would go forth to guard the
peace of every country but their
oum. To that country a man would
nes'er return during his service.
They were to be a deliberately ex-
patriated band of Janizaries, with an
obligation only to the Commission
and to the race, and welded together
with A carefully nurtured esprit de
corps.

It stood a chance of working. Had

Manning been allowed twenty years
without interruption, the original
plan might hav'e worked.

The President’s running mate
for re-election was the result of a
political compromise. The candi-
date for Vice President was a con-
firmed isolationist who had opposed
the Peace Commission from the first,
but it was he or a party split in a
year when the opposition was strong.
The President sneaked back in but
with a greatly weakened Congress;
only his power of veto twice pre-
vented the repeal of the Peace Act.
The Vice President did nothing to
help him, although he did not pub-
licly lead the insurrection. Manning
revised his plans to complete the es-
sential program by the end of 1952,
there being no way to predict the
temper of the next administration.

We were both overworked and I
was beginning to realize that ray
health was gone. The cause was not
far to seek; a photographic film
strapped next to my skin would
cloud in twenty minutes. I was suf-
fering from cumulative minimal ra-
dioactive poisoning. No well-defined
cancer that could be operated on, but
a systemic deterioration of function
and tissue. There was no help for it,
and there was work to be done. I’ve
always attributed it mainly to the
week I spent sitting on those eanis-
ters before the raid on Berlin.

Febriiary 17, 1951. I missed the
televue flash about the plane crash
that killed the President because I
was lying down in my apartment.
Manning, by that time, was requir-
ing me to rest every afternoon after
lunch, though I was still on duty.
I first heard about it from my secre-
tary when I returned to my office,
and at once hurried into Manning’s
office.

SOLUTION UNSATISFACTORY

There was a curious unreality to
that meeting. It seemed to me that
we had slipped back to that day
when I returned from England, the
<lay that Estelle Karst died. He
looked up. “Hello, John,” he said.

I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t take it so hard, chief,” was
all I could think of to say.

Forty-eight hours later came the
message from the newly sworn-in
President for Manning to report to
him. I took it in to him, an official
dispatch which I decoded. Man-
ning read it, face jjnpassive.

“Are you going, chief.'*” I asked.

“Eh.? Why, certainly.”

I went back into my office, and got
my topcoat, gloves, and brief case.

Manning looked up when I came
back in. “Never mind, John,” he
said. “You’re not going.” I guess
I must have looked stubborn, for he
added, “You’re not to go because
there is work to do here. Wait a
minute.”

He went to his safe, twiddled the
dials, opened it and removed a sealed
envelope which he threw on the
desk between us. “Here are your
orders. Get busy.”

He went out as I was opening
them. I read them through and got
busy. There was little enough time.

The new President received Man-
ning standing and in the company
of several of his bodyguard and in-
timates. Manning recognized the
.senator who had led the movement
to use the Patrol to recover expro-
priated holdings in South America
and Rhodesia, as well as the chair-
man of the committee on aviation
with whom he had had several un-
satisfactory conferences in an at-
tempt to work out a modus oferandi
for reinstituting commercial airlines.

“You’re prompt, I see,” said the
President. “Good.”

Manning bowed.

“We might *as well come straight
to the point,” the chief executive
went on. “There are going to be
some changes of policy in the ad-
ministration. I want your resigna-
tion.”

“I am sorry to have to refu.se, sir.”
“W’e’ll see about that. In the '
meantime. Colonel Manning, you
are relieved from duty.” ,

“Mr. Commissioner Manning, if
you please.”

The new President shrugged.
“One or the other, as you please.
You are relieved, either way.”

“I am sorry to disagree again. My
appointment is for life.”

“That’s enough,” was the answer,
“This is the United States of Amer-
ica. There can be no higher author-
ity. You are under arrest.”

' I can visualize Manning staling
steadily at him for a long moment,
then answering slowly, “You are
physically able to a,rrest me, I will
concede, but I advise you to wait a
few minutes.” He stepped to the
window. “Look up into the sky.”

Six bombers of the Peace Commis-
sion patrolled over the Capitol.
“None of those pilots are American
bom,” Manning added slowly. “If
you confine me, none of us here in
this room will live out the day.”

There were incidents thereafter,
such as the unfortunate affair at
Fort Benning three days later, and
the outbreak in the wing of the Pa-
trol based in Lisbon and its resultant
wholesale dismissals, but for practi-
cal purposes, that was all there was
to the coup d’etat.

Manning was the undisputed mili-
tary <lictator of the world.

Whether or not any man as uni-
versally hated as Manning can ’per-
fect the Patrol he envisioned, make
it self-perpetuating and trustworthy,

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

T don’t know, and — because of that
week of waiting in a buried English
hangar — I won’t be here to find out.
Mh lining’s heart disease makes the
outcome even more uncertain — he
may last another twenty years; he
may keel over dead tomorrow — and
there is no one to take his place.

■ I’ve set this down partly to occupy
the .short time I have left and partly
to show there is another side to any
story, even world dominion.

Not that I would like the outcome,
either way. If there is anything to
this survival-after-death business, I
am going to look up the man who
invented the bow and arrow and
take him apart with my bare hands.
For myself, I can’t be happy in a
world where any man, or group of
men, has the power of death over
you apd me, our neighbors, every hu-
man, every animal, every living,
thing. I don’t like anyone to have
that kind of power.

And neither does Manning.

Editor’s Note:

This story presents a logical possibility
of the near future; atomic power plants, in
burning atomic fuel; will automatically and
inevitably produce artificial radioactive
ashes. But, even more, this story presents
the problem mankind must solve some day,
s<x>n or late. The problem can be gener-
alized to cover any irresistible weapon; h,oi/>
cun it be controlled.

The solution offered herein is — unsatis-
factory. “DeFries” points that out. Dr.
E. E. Smith recognized a similar problem
in the formation of any all-powerful law-
enforcing body such as his Galactic Patrol.

Who will watch the watchmen? Smith’s
solution was complete and workable — the
Arisian supermen.

MacDonald’s purely human solution offers
this trouble beyond the one suggested
within the body of the story. Manning,
the first commissioner, was trained in a
democratic culture, by the officers of a
democracy’s army. His later succes.sors
would, presumably, he drawn from the
ranks of the Patrol by promotion, that
being the only body of men conscion.sly
and rigorously schooled 'through a lifetime
to the ideal of the world view. They wouhl
be men trained away from and above petty
nationalism.

They iroidd be men trained by a mili-
tary absolutism to standards of more-than-
nonnal perfection. Necessarily and charac-
teristically, such a military absolutism
recognizes no difference l>etween human
failings and intentional treason.

The solution is unsatisfactory from start
to finsh. But — is there any better one?
Can you suggest one? Remember that
the conditions are: the irresistible weapon
has been discovered. It can l>e duplicated
easily by .small groups, so that only tlie
most rigorous and minute policing — intrud-
ing on every individual’s private life — can
prevent it escaping control to be turned on
all men. That it is capable of upsetting
any organized tyranny and — most im-
portant of all — every manner and form of
government is considered tyranny by some-
one. Even anarchy, no government at all,
is “tyranny” to the most dangerous of all
types — the pow’er-mad. for it “tyrannically”
refuses them p>ower. The world must be
defended against every little knot of crack-
pots with a mission — and the horrible
weapon.

Can any solution not invoking tbe aid
of the Arisian super-beings protect man-
kind against the irresistible weapon, in the
form MacDonald has suggested or any
other?

THE END.

10 TldlfS TO COE

Coming next issue is a Ross Rocklynne problem yam. Tt’s a nice
proposition he has here — a detective story in reverse, you might say. De-
tective stories in science-fiction are decidedly unsatisfying; they’re supposed
to be a challenge for the reader to solve the case before the explanation is
given. In science-fiction, they’re fundamentally unfair. The locked-room
mystery, for instance, might be solved by (a) the villain’s possession of an
invisibility suit, (b) a fourth-dimensional penetration, (c) time-traveling,
or, (d) radio transportation of the murderer into and out of the locked
room. Nice, neat, but not fair to the reader; the author can pull anything
he wants out of the hat.

Rocklynne’s yam is slightly different. “Time Wants a Skeleton”
involves time traveling, but the mystery is not of the “whodunit” variety —
it’s a question of who was it done to. There’s a skeleton on an asteroid,
and an unique sort of ring on the skeleton’s finger before the party of five
men and a girl are thrown back in time some millions of years. One of them
has — and most heartily does not want! — ^that ring. But, they know. Time
can’t be cheated. There’s going to be a skeleton, and it will wear that ring.
Somebody is elected to die — but they can’t know who!

“Time Wants a Skeleton” — and there’s a great deal of co-operation
in the crew. Everybody seems willing to supply Time with the skeleton —
somebody else’s skeleton! A lovely, murder-minded time is had by all —
not that they’re basically murderous; it’s just a matter of self-defense. The
ring — which can’t be disposed of, no matter how thoroughly they try —
adds to the gaiety of the six people trapped in time. The Editor.

flOflLyTICflL LflBOfifllORy .

One characteristic of the present method of determining the point
scores — rating first-place votes 1, second-place votes 2, et cetera, adding
total vote-points a story gets, and dividing by number of votes — is that
diversity of opinion means high-point scores. In this issue, for instance,
“Sixth Column” was fairly unanimously voted first or at least second
place, fighting it out mainly with “Logic of Empire.” Hence, these two got
most of the I’s and 2’s. But when it came to the rest, agreement was very
poor. Apparently the general feeling was that they were all good yarns.
That meant that whether the story got a 3, or a 7, was a hard, close decision.

The result, as seen, was that every story got a few 7’s, and some 3’s and
4’s. The point-score seems to indicate a wide gap of choice between the
first two, and the rest; actually, apparently, the first two had just enough

lead to
others.

make readers pick them fairly consistently, but
The scores stood:

vary widely on

Story

Author

Po'tnU

Sixth Column

Anson MacDonald

1.56

Logic of Empire

Robert Heinlein

2.37

Poker Face

Theodore Sturgeon

4.10

Eccentric Orbit

D. B. Thompson

4.40

Masquerade

Clifford D. Simak

4.90

The Editor.

iifiy scoRC

By Cric frank Bussell

He had no friends, only respect, but the terrible
test of the Sun proved him a friend to have!

Illustrated by Schneeman

There are very good reasons for
everything they do. To the unini-
tiated some of their little tricks and
some of their regulations seem
mighty peculiar — but rocketing

through the cosmos isn’t quite like
paddling a bathtub across a farm
pond, no sir!

This stunt of using mixed crews,
for instance, is pretty sensible when
you look into it. On the outward
runs toward Mars, the asteroids and
beyond, they have white Teij'estrials
to run the engines and do the naviga-
ting because they’re the ones w'ho
perfected rocketships, know most
about them, and can handle them
like nobody else. All ship’s surgeons
are black Terrestrials because, for
some reason nobody’s ever been able
to explain, no Negro gets gravity
bends or space nausea. Every out-
side repair gang is composed of Mar-
tians because they use very little air,
are tiptop metal workers, and fairly
immune from cosmic-ray burn.

As for the inward trips to Venus,
they mix them pretty much the same
— except that the emergency pilot is
always a big clunker like Jay Score.
There’s a reason fpr that — he was the
reason! I’m not likely to forget him
— ^lie sort of sticks in the mind. What
a guy!

Fortune put me at the top of the
gangway the first time he appeared.
Our ship was the Upskadaska City,
a brand-new freighter with limitefl

passenger accommodation, registered
in the Venusian port from which she
took her name. Needless to say, she
was known among spacefarers as the
Vpsydaisy.

We were in the Colorado Rocket
Basin, just north of Denver, with a
fair load aboard, mostly watchmak-
ing machinery, scientific instruments,
agricultural equipment, aeronautical
jigs and tools for Upskadaska, as
well as a case of radium needles for
the Venusian Cancer Research Insti-
tute. There were eight passengers,
all agriculturists. We’d kangarooed
the vessel and were waiting for the
blow-brothers-blow siren due in fprty
minutes, when Jay Score arrived.

He was six feet nine, about three
hundred pounds, and he toted his
bulk with the easy grace of a ballet
dancer. A big guy like that, moving
like that, was something worth
watching. He came up the duralumin
gangway with the nonchalance of a
tripper boarding the bus for Jack-
son’s Creek, and he was dangling
from his hamlike right fist a rawhide
case not quite big enough to hold
his bed and maybe a wardrobe or
two.

At the top he took in the crossed
swords on my cap, said, “Morning,
sarge. I’m the new E. P. I’ve got
to report to Captain McNulty.”

I knew a fresh emergency pilot
was due. Jeff Durkin had been pro-

CAess won him the respect of the Martians. Before him, no
one from Earth had beaten a Martian at Earth’s own game.

moted to the snooty Martian scent-
box Prometheus. So this was his
successor! He was a Terrestrial, all
right, but neither white nor black.
His expressionless but capable face
looked as if covered with old, well-
seasoned leather. His eyes held fires,
almost like phosphorescence. There
was an air about him that marked

him out as an exceptional individual.

“Welcome, Tiny,” I ^aid. I didn’t
offer my hand, because I wanted it
for use later on. “Open your satchel
and leave it in the sterilizing cham-
ber. You’ll find the skipper in the
bow.”

“Thanks!” he responded, without
the glimmer of a smile. He stepped

ASTOUNDINGSCIENCE-FICTION

into the air lock, swinging the raw-
hide bungalow at his side.

“We blast in forty minutes,” I
warned him.

Didn’t see anything more of Jay
Score until we were two hundred
thousand out, with Earth a greenish
moon at the end of our vapor-wake.
Then I heard him in the passage ask-
ing where he could find the sergeant
at arms. He was directed through
my door.

“Sarge,” he said, handing over his
official requisition, “I’ve come to
collect the trimmings.” Then he
leaned on the barrier, the whole
framework creaked, the top tube
sagged in the middle.

“Hey!” I shouted.

“Sorry!” He unleaned. The bar-
rier .stood much better while he had
his weight on his dogs.

I stamped his requisition, went
into the armory, got him his needle
ray jiistol and an issue of capsules for
same. The biggest Venusian mud
skis I could find were about seyen
sizes too small and a yard too short
for him, but they had to do. He
got a can of thin, multipurpo.se oil,
a jar of graphite, a Lepanto power-
pack for his microwave radiophone
and, finally, a bunch of nutweed pel-
licules marked: “Compliments of

the Bridal Planet Aromatic Herbal
Cor|M>ration.”

Shoving back the spicy junk
lumps, he said, “You haye ’em — they
give mf, the staggers.” The rest of
the stuff he gathered without so
much as twitching an eyebrow. I’ve
never seen anyone .so poker-faced.

.\ll the .same, the way he eyed the
spacesuits .seemed somewhat wist-
ful. There were thirty bifidcated
ones for the Terrestrials, all hanging
on the wall like sloughed skins.
There were also six head-and-
shoulder helmets for the Martians,

since they needed no more than three
pounds of air. There wasn’t a suit
for him. I couldn’t have fitted him
with one if my life had depended on
it — it’d have been like trying to can
an elephant.

Well, he lumbered out lightly, if
you get what I mean. The casual
way he transported his tonnage
made me think that I’d sure like to
be some place else if ever he got on
a rampage. Not that I thought him
likely to run amuck — he was amiable
enough, though sphinxlike. But I
was fascinated by his air of calm
certainty, and by his motion which
was fast and eerie and silent. The
latter, I guess, was because he
favored an inch of sponge rubber
under his dogs.

I kept my eyes on Jay Score while
the IJpsydaisy made good time on
her crawl through the void. Yes, I
was curious about him becau.se his
type was a new one on me — and I’ve
seen plenty in my time. He re-
mained uncommunicative but al-
ways polite, while his w»rk wa.s
smooth, efficient and in every way
satisfactory. McNulty took a great
fancy to him — and he never had
been one to greet a newcomer with
lov'e and kisses.

Three days out. Jay made a great
hit with the Martians. As everyone
knows, those goggle-eyed, ten-tenta-
cled, half-breathing kibitzers have
stuck harder than glue to the Solar
System Chess Championship for
more than two centuries. Nobody
outside of Mars will ever pry them
loose. They’re nuts about it, and
many’s the time I’ve seen a bunch
of them go through all the colors of
the spectrum in sheer excitement
when .somebody had shifteil a pawn
after thirty minutes of profound con-
sideration.

One rest time. Jay spent his whole

JAY SCORE

eight hours under three-pounds pres-
sure in the starboard air lock. Over
the lock phones came long silences
punctuated by wild and shrill twit-
terings as if he and the octopuses
were turning the place into a mad-
house. At the end of the time we
found our outside gang exhausted.
Seems Jay had consented to play
Kli Yang and had forced him to a
stalemate. Kli had been sixth run-
ner-up in the last Solar melee, had
been beaten only ten times — each
time by a brother INIartian, of course.

The red-planet gang had the finger
on him after that. Every rest time
they waylaid him and dragged him
into the air lock. When we were
eleven days out, he played the six
of them simultaneously, lost two
games, stalemated three, won one.
'J'hey thought he was a whiz — for a
Terrestrial. Knowing them, I
thought so, too. So did McNulty.
He stuck the sporting data in the log.

You’ll remember the stunt that
the aiidiopress of 2270 boosted as
“McNulty’s Miracle Move”? Sure,
it’s practically a legend of the space-
ways. Afterward, when we’d got
safely back, McNulty disclaimed all
the credit and put it where it right-
fully belonged. The audiopress had
a good excuse, as usual. They said
he was the captain, wasn’t he? And
his name made the phrase allitera-
tive, didn’t it? Seems like there must
be a sect of audio journalists who’ve
got to be alliterative to gain salva-
tion.

W'hat precipitated that crazy
stunt and whitened my hair was a
chunk of flotsam. Said junk was a
gob of meteoric nickel iron which
was ambling along at the usual cos-
mic speed of pssst! Its orbit was on
the planetary plane, and it ap-
proached at right angles to our sun-
ward course.

It gave us the business. I’d never
have believed anything so small
could have made such a slam. To the
present day I can hear the whistle
of air as it made a break for freedom
through that jagged hole.

We lost a lot of political juice
before the autodoors sealed the sec-
tion. Pressure had dropped to nine
pounds when the compensators held
it and slowly l?egan to build it up
again. The drop didn’t worry the
Martians — nine pounds was still like
inhaling pigwash to them.

There was one engineer in that
sealed section. A second beat the
doors by the toe of his left boot and
got clear. But the first, we thought,
had drawn his number and eventu-
ally would be floated out like so
many spacemen who’ve come to the
end of their duty.

The guy who got clear was lean-
ing against a bulwark, skin-white
with the narrowness of his squeak,
when Jay came pounding in. His
jaw was working, and his eyes were
like lamps, but his voice was cool
and easy.

He said, “Get out and seal this
room. I’ll make a snatch. Open up
and let me through fast when I
knock.”

With that, he shoved out the
other. We sealed the room by clos-
ing another autodoor. We couldn’t
see what the big hunk was doing, but
the telltale showed he’d released and
opened the door to the damaged sec-
tion. Ten seconds later, the light
went out, showing the door was
closed again. Came a hard, urgent
knock. We opened. Jay plunged
through like a bat out- of hell, the
engineer’s limp body cuddled in his
thick arms. He bore it like it was
no more than a kitten, and the way
he took it down the passage threat-
ened to carry him clear through the
nose of the ship.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Mkanwhile, we found we were
in a No. 1 mess. The rockets weren’t
functioning any more. The Venturi
tubes were O. K., and the combus-
tion chambers undamaged. The in-
jectors worked without a hitch —
providing you pumped them by
hand. We’d lost none of our pre-
cious fuel, and the shell was intact
sa\'e for that one jagged hole. What
made us useless was the wrecking of
our co-ordinated feeding and firing
controls. They’d been located in
that damaged section and now they
were as much scrap.

This was more than serious. Gen-
eral opinion called it certain death.
I’m pretty certain that McNulty
shared the morbid notion even if his
official report did describe it as “an
embarrassing predicament.’’ But
tliat’s just like McNulty — it’s a won-
der he didn’t define our feelings by
recording that we were nonplussed.

Anyway, the Martian squad
poured out, some honest work being
required of them for the first time in
six trips. Pressure had crawled back
to fourteen, and they had to come
into it to put on their head-and-
.shoulder contraptions.

Kli Yank sniffed, waved a dis-
gusted tentacle, and chirniped, “I
could swim.” He eased up when we
got his dingbat fixed and exhausted
it to his customary three pounds.
That’s the Martian idea of sarcasm
— whenever it’s thicker than they
like they make sinuous backstrokes
and say, “I could swim.”

To give them their due, they were
good. They can cling to polished ice
and work for twelve hours on a ra-
tion of oxygen that wouldn’t satisfy
a Terrestrial for more than ninety
minutes. I saw them beat it through
the air lock, their goggle eyes peering
through their inverted goldfish
bowls, their tentacles clutching
power lines, sealing plates, and quasi-

arc welders. Blue lights made little
auroras outside the ports as they be-
gan to cut, shape and seal that
ragged hole.

All the time, we continued to bul-
let onward toward the Sun. But for
this cursed misfortune we’d have
swung a curve into the orbit of
Venus in four hours’ time. Then
we’d have let her catch us up, and
we’d have carefully decelerated to
a safe landing. But when that pee-
wee planetoid picked on us we were
still headed straight for the biggest
and brightest furnace hereabouts.
That was the way we were still going,
our original velocity being steadily
increased by the pull of our fiery
destination. I wanted to be cremated
— but not yet!

Up in the bow navigation. Jay
Score was in constant conference
with Captain McNulty and the two
astro-computator operators. Out-
side, the Martians continued to crawl
around, fizzing and spitting with
flashes of ghastly blue light. The
engineers, of course, weren’t waiting
for them to finish their job — four in
spacesuits entered the damaged sec-
tion and started the task of creating
order out of chaos.

I envied all those busj'^ guys and
so did many of the others. There’s
a lot of consolation in being able to
do something even in a hopeless
situation. There’s a lot of misery
in being compelled to play with one’s
fingers while others are active.

Two Martians came in through
the lock, grabbed some more plates
and crawled out again. One picked
up a pocket chess set, but I took it
off him. Then I went along to see
Sam Hignett, our Negro surgeon.

Sam had dragged back the en-
gineer from the very rim of the
grave. He’d done it with oxygen
and heart massage. Only his long.

JAY SCORE

dexterous fingers could have done
it. It was a feat that had been
brought off before — but not often.

It seemed that Sam didn’t know
just what had happened and didn’t
care. He was like that when he had
a patient on his hands. Deftly, he
closed the chest incision with silver
clips, painted the pinched flesh with
iodized plastic, cooled the stuff to
hardness with a spray of ether.

“Sam,” I told him, “you’re a
marvel!”

“Jay gave me a chance,” he said.
“He got him here in time.”

“Why put the blame on him?”
I joked.

“Sergeant,” he answered, quite
seriously, “I’m the ship’s dotcor. I
do the best I can. I couldn’t have
saved this man if Jay hadn’t got him
to me in time.”

“All right, all right,” I agreed.
“Have it your own way.” A good
fellow, Sam. But he was like all
doctors — you know, ethical. I left
him with his breathing patient.

McNulty came toddling along
the catwalk as I went back. He
checked up on the fuel tanks. He
did it personally, and that meant
something. He looked worried, and
that meant a devil of a lot — it meant
that I needn’t bother writing my
last will and testament, because it’d
never be read.

I watched his portly form dive
back into bow navigation, and heard
him say, “Jay, I guess you — ” before
the closing door cut off his voice.

Seemed to have a lot of faith in
Jay Score. Well, Jay looked capable
enough . The skipper and the laconic
E. P. were still acting like cronies
even while heading for the final
frizzle.

One of the emigrating agricul-
turists came out of his cabin and
caught me before I regained the ar-

mory. Looking at me wide-eyed, he
said, “Sergeant; there’s a half moon
showing through my port.”

He continued to pop them at me
while I popped mine at him. Venus
showing half her pan meant that we
were crossing her orbit. He knew it,
too — I could tell by* the way he
bugged them.

“Well,” he persisted, “how long
is this mishap likely to delay us?”

“No knowing,” I replied, quite
truthfully. I scratched my head,
trying to look confident and stupid
at one and the same time. “Captain
McNulty will do the best he can.
Put your trust in him — Poppa
knows best!”

“You don’t think that we are . . .
er . . . in any danger?”

“Oh, not at all!”

“You’re a liar,” he said.

“I know it,” said I.

That unhorsed him. He went into
his cabin, dissatisfied, apprehensive.
Pretty soon he’d see Venus in a
three-quarter phase and he’d tell the
others. Then the fat would be in
the fire — our fat in the solar fire.

The last vestiges . of hope had
had drained away just about the
time when a terrific roar and a vio-
lent tremble told that the long-dead
rockets were back into action. The
noise didn’t last more than a few
seconds; they shut them off quickly,
the brief burst serving to show that
repairs were effective and satisfac-
tory.

The noise brought out the agricul-
turist at full gallop. He knew the
worst by now, and so did the others.
It had been impossible to conceal
the truth for the three days since
he’d seen Venus as a half moon. She
was far behind now, and we were
cutting the orbit of Mercury. But
still the passengers clung desperately

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

to the chance of somebody perform-
ing a miracle.

Charging into the armory, he said,
“The rockets are working again!
Does that mean — ”

“Nothing,” I told him, seeing no
use in building false hopes.

“But can’t we turn around and go
back.''” He mopped the perspiration
trickling down his jowls. It wasn’t
so much that he was scared as the
unpleasant fact that interior condi-
tions were now anything but arctic.

“Sir,” I said, “we’re moving so all-
fired fast that there’s nothing to do
but hold a lily.”

“My ranch,” he growled, bitterly.
“I was alloted five thousand acres
of the best Venusian tobacco-grow-
ing country, not to mention a range
of uplands for beef.”

“Sorry, brother, but the days of
the West are through.”

Crrrump! went the rockets again.
The burst bent me backward and
made him bow forward like he had
a bad bellyache. Somebody up in
bow navigation — McNulty or Jay
Score — was blowing them when he
felt the whim. I couldn’t see any
sense in it.

“What’s that for.?” demanded the
complainant, regaining the perpen-
dicular.

“Boys will be boys,” I said.

Snorting his disgust, he went back
to his cabin. A typical Terrestrial
emigrant, big and healthy and tough,
he was more peeved than worried.

Half an hour later the general call
sounded on the buzzers all over the
ship. It was a ground signal, never
u.sed in space, and it meant that the
entire crew and all other occupants
of the vessel were summoned to the
central cabin. Imagine guys being
called from their posts in full flight!
Something unique in the history of
space navigation must have been be-

hind that call, probably a compose-
yourselves-for-the-end speech by
McNulty.

Expecting the skipper to preside
over the last rites, I wasn’t surprised
to find him standing on the tiny dais
as we assembled. A faint scowl lay
over the plump features, but it faded
into a ghost of a smile when the
Martians mooched in and one of
them did some imitation shark-
dodging.

Erect beside McNulty, expression-
less as usual. Jay Score looked at that
Martian as if he were a pane of
glass. , Then his strangely lit orbs
roamed idly away as if they’d seen
nothing more boring. The swim-
joke was getting stale, anyway.

“Men and vedras,” began Mc-
Nulty — the latter being Martian for
“adults,” and more Martian sarcasm,
too — “I’ve no need to enlarge upon
the awkwardness of our position.”
That man sure could pick his worils
— awkward! “Already we are nearer
the Sun than any space vessel has
ever been in the whole history of
cosmic navigation.”

“Comic navigation,” murmured
Edi Yang, with tactless wit.

“We’ll need your humor to enter-
tain us later,” observed Jay Score in
a voice so flat that Kli Yang sub-
sided.

“We’re moving toward the lumi-
nary,” went on McNulty, his scowl
reappearing, “faster than any space
vessel ever moved before. Bluntly,
there’s not mpre than one chance in
ten thousand of us getting out of this
alive.” He favored Kli Yang with a
challenging glare, but that tentacled
individual was now subdued. “How-
ever, there is that one chance — and
we’re going to take it!”

We gaped at him, wondering what
the devil he meant. Every one of

JAY SCORE

us knew that it was absolutely im-
possible to make a U-bend without
touching the Sun, neither would we
be able to fight our way back in the
reverse direction with all that
mighty drag upon us. There was
nothing to do but go onward, onward
— until the last searing blast scat-
tered our disrupted molecules all
over the block.

“What we propose to do is to try
a conietary,” continued McNulty.
“Jay and myself, and the astro-
coinputator operators reckon it’s
barely possible that we can do it and
pull through.”

That was plain enough. The stunt
was a theoretical one frequently de-
bated by mathematicians and astro-
navigators, and often used by writ-
ers in stories. But this time it was
to be the real thing. The idea is to
build up all the velocity that can be
got, and at the same time to angle
into the path of an elongated ellipti-
cal orbit like that of a comet. In
theory, the vessel then inight skim
the Sun so fast that it would swing
like a pendulum far out to the oppo-
site side of the orbit whence it had
come. A sweet little trick — but
could we make it.?

“Calculations show our present
condition fair enough to permit a
small chance of success,” said Mc-
Nulty. “We’ve power enough and
fuel enough to build up the neces-
sary velocity, to strike the requisite
angle, and to maintain both for the
proper time. The only point about
which I have gi-ave doubt is that of
whether we can survive at our near-
est to the Sun.” He wiped perspira-
tion as if unconsciously to emphasize
the shape of things to come. “I won’t
mince words, men — it’s going to be
a sample of hell!”

“We’re ready, skipper,” said some-
body, and a low murmur of support
ran around the cabin.

Kli Yang got up, simultaneou.sly
waggled four arms for attention, and
twittered, “It is an idea. It is excel-
lent. I, Kli Yang, endorse it on be-
half of my fellow vedras. We shall
all cram into the refrigerator and
breathe the Terrestrial stink while
the Sun goes past?”

McNulty let pass the crack about
human odor, nodded, and said,
“Everyone will be packed into the
cold room and endure it as best they
can.”

“Exactly,” said Kli. “Quite,” he
added with bland disregard of super-
fluity. W’iggling a tentacletip at Mc-
Nulty, he carried on, “But we can’t
control the ship while we’re squat-
ting in the icebox like three and a
half dozen strawberry sundaes.
There’ll have to be control from bow
navigation. One individual could
hold her on her course — until he gets
fried. So somebody’s got to be the
fryee.”

He gave the tip another sinuous
wiggle, being under the delusion
that it was fascinating his listeners
into complete attention. “And since
it cannot be denied that we Martians
are far less susceptible to extremes of
heat, I suggest that — ”

“Nuts!” said McNulty. His grufl-
ness deceived nobody. The Martians
were nuisances — but grand guys.

“All right.” Kli’s chirrup rose to
a shrill, protesting yelp. “Who else
is going to be a crisp?”

“Me, maybe — or not,” said Jay
Score. It was queer the way he said
it — ^just as if he were a candidate so
obvious that only the stone-blind
couldn’t see him.

He was right, at that! Jay was
the very one for the job. If anyone
could take what was going to come
through the fore observation ports,
it was Jay Score. He was big and
tough, built for just such a task as
this. He had a lot of stuff that none

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

of us had got and, after all, was a
fully qualified E. P.

But it was funny the way I felt
about him. I could imagine him up
in front, all alone, nobody there, but
our lives depending on how much he
could take — while the flaming Sun
extended its searing fingers —

“You!” ejaculated Kli, breaking
my thought. His goggle eyes bulged
angrily at the big, laconic figure on
the dais. “You would! I’m ready
to mate in four moves, and you get
yourself locked away.”

“Six,” contradicted Jay, disinter-
estedly. “You can’t do it in less
than six.”

“Four,” Kli fairly howled. “And
right at this point you — ”

It was too much for McNulty.
He looked as if on the verge of a
stroke. His purple face turned on
the semaphoring Kli.

“To hell with your blasted chess!”
he roared. “Return to your stations,
all of you. Make ready for the boost.
I’ll-sound the general call immedi-
ately it is necessary to take cover,
and then you’re all to go to the cold
room.” He looked around, the pur-
ple gradually fading as his blood
{)ressure went down. “That is, all
except Jay.”

Seemed like old times with the
rockets going full belt. They roared
away steadily, like we were running
with a tail of thunder. Inside the
vessel, the atmosphere got hotter and
hotter until moisture glistened on the
metal walls and plenty more of the
same trickled steadily dowm our
backs. What it was like up in bow
navigation I didn’t know and didn’t
care to discover. The Martians
weren’t inconvenienced yet — which
is one time their wacky composition
was to be envied.

I didn’t keep check of the time,
but I’d had two spells of duty with

an intervening sleep period and rest
time before the buzzers sounded the
general call. By then, things were
pretty bad. I was no longer perspir-
ing — I was slowly melting into my
boots.

Sam, of course, endured it most
easily of all the Terrestrials, and had
persisted enough to drag his patient
completely out of danger. That en-
gineer was one lucky guy! We’d put
him in the cool room right away,
with Sam in frequent attendance.

The rest of us dribbled in when
the buzzer went. Our sanctuarj' was
more than a mere refrigerator; it was
the strongest and coolest section of
the vessel, an armored, triply
shielded compartment holding the
instrument lockers, two sick bays
and a large lounge for the benefit of
nauseated passengers. It held us all
comfortably.

All but the Martians. It held
them, but not comfortably. They’re
never comfortable at fourteen
pounds, which they regard as not
only thick but also smelly — some-
thing like breathing treacle impreg-
nated with old goat.

Under our very eyes, Kli Y^ang
produced a bottle of hooloo scent,
handed it to his half parent Kli
IVIorg. The latter took it, stared
distastefully at us, then sniffed at
it in an ostentatious manner that
was positively insulting. But no-
body said anything.

All were present excepting Mc-
Nulty and Jay Score. The Skipper
appeared two hours later. It must
have been raw up in front, because
he looked terrible. His haggard face
was beaded and glossy, his formerly
plump cheeks sunken and blistered.
His usually spruce, well-fitting uni-
form hung upon him sloppily. It
only needed one glance to tell that
he’d had a darned good roasting— as
much as he could stand.

JAY SCORE

Walking unsteadily, he crossed the
floor, went into the first-aid cubby,
stripped himself with slow, painful
movements. Sam rubbed him all
over with tannic jelly — we could hear
the tormented skipper grunting
hoarsely as Sam put plenty of pep
into his job.

The heat was now on us with a
vengeance. It pervaded the walls,
the floor, the air, and it created a
multitude of stinging sensations in
every muscle of my body. Several
of the engineers took off their boots
and jerkins. After a while, the pas-
sengers followed suil, discarding
much of their outer clothing. My
agriculturist sat a miserable figure in
tropical silks, moody over what
might have been.

Coming out of the cubby, Mc-
Nulty flopped onto a bunk, and said,
“If we’re all O. K. in four hours’
lime, we’re out of the wood!”

At that moment, the rockets fal-
tered. We knew at once what was
wrong. A fuel tank had emptied,
an<l the relay had failed to cut in.
An engineer should have been ready
to switch the conduits. In the heat
and excitement, someone had blun-
dered.

The fact had barely time to sink
in before Kli Yang was out through
the door. He’d been sitting nearest
to it, and was gone before anyone
realized the fact. Twenty seconds
later the rockets renewed their
steady thrum.

A speaking tube whistle shrilled
right by my ear. Solar radiation had
made the radiophones useless these
last two days. Pulling out the whis-
tle, I croaked a throaty, “Well.'*” into
the tube, and heard Jay’s voice com-
ing back from bow.

“Who did it?”

“Kli Yang,” I told him. “He’s
still outside.”

“Probably gone for the domes,”
guessed Jay. “Tell him I said
thanks!”

“What’s it like around where you
live?” I asked.

“Fierce,” he replied. “It isn’t so
good . . . for vision.” Silence for
a moment, then, “Guess I can , . .
stick it . . . somehow. Strap in
ready for next time I blow the . . .
whistle.”

“Why?” I half yelled, half rasped.

“Going to rotate her — distribute
the heat.”

A faint, squeak told that he’d
plugged his end of the tube. Shov-
ing the whistle back, I told the others
to strap down in readiness for Jay’s
signal. The Martians didn’t have -to
bother since they’d got enough first-
class suckers to weld them to a sun-
fishing meteor.

Kli came back and showed Jay’s
guess to be correct. He was drag-
ging the squad’s head-and-shoulder
pieces. The load was about as much
as he could pull now that the tem-
perature was up to the point where
even he was beginning to wilt.

The Martian moochers donned

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

their gadgets gladly, earefully seal-
ing the seams, then evacuating them
down to three pounds. It made them
a lot happier. Remembering that
we Terrestrials use spacesuits to
keep air in, it seemed queer seeing
those guys wearing theirs to keep air
out.

They’d just finished and had laid
out a chessboard when the whistle
squeaked. We braced ourselves; the
Martians clamped down their suck-
ers. Slowly and steadily the Upsy-
daisy began to turn upon her longi-
tudinal axis. The chessboard and
pieces tried to stay put, failed,
crawled along the floor, up the wall
and across the ceiling. Solar pull
was making them stick to the sun-
ward side, of course. I saw Kli
Morg’s strained, heat-ridden face
glooming at a black bishop while it
skittered around — and I guess that
inside his goldfish bowl were resound-
ing some potent samples of Martian
invective.

“1’hree hours and a half,” gasped
McNulty.

That four-hour estimate could
only mean two hours of approach to
the deadline, and two hours of re-
treat from it. So the moment when
we had two hours to go would be
the moment when we were at our
nearest to the solar furnace, the mo-
ment of our greatest peril.

I wasn’t aware of that potent in-
stant, since I passed out twenty
minutes before it arrived, and re-
coN'cred consciousness an hour and a
half after it. My dazed mind took
what seemed an endless time to real-
ize that we’d now only half an hour
to go, thirty minutes to safety!

What had happened in the inter-
val could only be left to my imagina-
tion — and I didn’t care to think
much about that, time. The Sun

blazing with ferocity infinitely
greater than a tiger’s eye — and a
thousand times hungrier The corona
licking out toward this tiny shipload
of footlings, half-dead entities. And
up in front of the vessel, behind its
totally inadequate quartz windows.
Jay sitting alone and facing the
mounting inferno, staring, staring,
staring —

Getting to my feet, I teetered un-
certainly, fell over like a bundle of
rags. The ship wasn’t rotating any
longer and we seemed to be bulleting
along in perfectly normal fashion.
What brought me down was sheer
weakness. I felt lousy.

The Martians had already recov-
ered. I knew they’d be the first.
One of them lugged me up and held
me steady while I got back a per-
centage of my former control. I
noticed that another had sprawled
himself right across the unconscious
McNulty and three of the passengers.
Yes, he’d shielded them from some
of the heat. His action was succe.s.s-
ful, too — for they were the next to
come to life.

Struggling to the tube, I extnicted
the whistle, blew down the funnel. It
was a weak, ineffectual blow that
brought me no response. Just a
waste of gootl breath on which I was
darned short.' I hung there dazedly
for a full three minutes, then sum-
moned my returning strength, ex-
tended my aching chest, blew as hanl
as I could and heard the shrill cheep
of the whistle at the other end. But
Jay didn’t answer.

Several more attempts didn’t bring
me the slightest response. The effort
cost me a dizzy spell, and down I
flopped again. The heat was still
terrific; I felt as dehydrated as a
mummy dug out of sand a million
years old.

Kli Yang opened the door, crept

JAY SCORE

out Avith dragging, pain-stricken mo-
tion. lie was still wearing his head-
»n«l-.shoul<ler piece. *Five minutes
later; he came back, spoke through
his helmet’s diaphragm:

“Couldn’t get near bow naviga-
tion. At the midway catwalk it’s
lM>tter than an oven, and all the at-
mosphere’s sealed off.” He answered
the question in my eyes. “Yes, the
auto<loors are closed — there can’t be
any air in bow navigation.”

No AIK meant the navigation win-
dows had gone phut. Nothing else
c>ould have emptied the cabin. Well,
-we’d spares for that job, and could
make goorl the damage once we were
in the clear. Meanwhile, here we
were roaring along, maybe on our
correct course and maybe not, with
an enipty, airless, ;navigation room,
and with a speaking tube that gave
us nothing but ghastly, silence.

Sitting around, we picked up
strength. The last one to come out
of his coma was the sick engineer.
Sam brought him round all right. It
was just then that McNulty got
excited. “

“Four hours!” he shouted. “We’ve
-done it!”

We raised a hollow cheer. By
-Jupitei-j the superheated atmospheio
seemed to grow ten degrees cooler

with the news! Funny how relief
caVi breed strength — in one minute
we conquered all weakness and were
Farin’ to go. But it was another
four hours before a quartet of en-
gineer in spacesuits bore their burden
from the airless navigation room.

They carried him into Sam’s little
place — a long, heavy, silent figure.

I said, “Jay, Jay, how’re you mak-
ing out.?”

He must have heard me, for he
moved the fingers of his right hand,
and emitted a chesty grinding noise
before they carried him inside. Two
of the engineers went to his cabin,
brought back his huge rawhide case.
They shut the door, staying in with
Sam, leaving me and the Martians
hanging around outside. Kli Yang
wandered up and down the passage
as if he didn’t know what to do with
his tentacles.

Sam came out after an hour, and
we jumped him on the spot.

“How’s Jay?”

“Blind as a statue,” he said, shak-
ing his head. “And his voice isn’t
there any more. He’s taken an awful
beating.”

“So that’s why he didn’t answer ^
on the tube,” I looked him straight
in the eyes. “Can you . . . can you
do anything for him, Sam?” ,

“I only wish I could!” His black

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AST— 7

100

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

face showed his feelings. “You know
how much J’d like to put him right,
sergeant — but I can’t.” He made a
gesture of futility. “He’s completely
beyond my modest skill. Maybe
when we get back to Earth — ” His
voice petered out, and he went back
inside.

Kli Yang said, miserably, “I am
saddened.”

A SCENE T’ll never forget as long
as I live was that evennig we spent
as guests of the Astro Club in New
York. That club was then — as it is
still — the most exclusive group of
human beings ever gathered to-
gether. To qualify for membership,
you had to perform a feat of astro-
navigation tantamount to a miracle.
There were only nine members in
those days, and there are only twelve
now.

ISface Waldron, the famous pilot
who saved that Martian liner in
21^63, wasrthe chairman. Classy in
his soup-and-fish, he stood at the top
of the table with Jay Score sitting
at his side. At the other end of the
table sat McNulty, a broad smirk of
satisfaction on his jovial pan. Be-
side the skipper was old, white-
haired Knud Johannsen, the genius
who designed the J-series, and a fig-
ure known to every spaceman.

Along the sides, and somewhat
self-conscious, sat the entire crew of
the Upsydaisy, including the Mar-
tians, plus three of our passengers
who’d postponed their trips for this
occasion. There were also a couple

of audio journalists with their scan-
ners and mikes.

“Gentlemen and vedras,”^ said
Mace, “this is an event without pre-
cedent in the history of humanity
or this club. Perhaps because of
that, I feel it to be doubly an honor
and a privilege to propose that
Emergency Pilot Jay Score be ac-
cepted as a fully qualified and
worthy member of the Astro Club.”

“Seconded!” shouted three mem-
bers simultaneously.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” He
cocked an inquiring eyebrow. Eight
hands went up in unison. “Carried,”
he said. “Unanimously!” Glancing
down at the still taciturn Jay Score,
he launched into a eulog>'. It went
on and on, while Jay sat there with
a listless air.

Down at the other end, I saw Mc-
Nulty’s gratified smirk wax stronger
and stronger. At his side, old Knud
was gazing down the table with a
fatherly fondness that was almost
fatuous. The crew gave plenty of
attention to the subject of the
eulogy, and the scanners were fixed
upon him, too.

I returned my attention to where
all the others were directing their
attention, and the victim sat there,
his restored eyes bright and glitter-
ing, but his face immobile despite
the talk, the publicity, the beam of
patem{\^ pride from Johannsen.

But after ten minutes of this, I
saw J.20 begin to fidget. Don’t let
anybody kid you that a robot can’t
have feelings!

THE END.

fiSH siofiy

By Vic Phillips and Scolt lloberts

>ls a yorn, it wasn't quite plausible, even if it was lexical!

Illustrated by Schneeman

“Hh-r-rmph — ” Colonel Chutley- his liquor. As usual, somebody else
Clavenger blasted his vocal chords had paid for it. “Most interesting,
free of the last cloying remnants of most interesting, m’ dear professor.

101

102

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Undoubtedly the pursuit of the Mar-
tian sand gopher would ])rovide con-
siderable entertainment. Found your
story most intriguing, most intrigu-
ing. But have you ever had any ex-
perience in the Nordiif country north
of the Magna Escarpment on Ve-
nus?”

“Well, no. I can’t say that I
have,” Professor Grey admitted,
thereby leading with his conversa-
tional chin. Colonel Clavenger’s
bleary blue eyes lighted up.

“Good . . . er . . . uh, that is
to say — Oh, you haven’t? W'ell,
now — ” We ail relaxed back in our
chairs. Automatically, the colonel’s
right hand came out, reaching sug-
gestively for his empty glass. “Very
interesting country, that region;
l)robably the most dangerous area in
the Solar System — ”

We knew this should be good. The
quality of the story emanating from
the colonel was directly relative to
the quantity of liquor poured into
him, and he’d been well oiled this
evening. We knew approximately
what to expect, but Professor Grey
leaned forward with eager innocence.

“The last time I was in that coun-
try was when 1 was aid-de-camp to
Governor Bly of Venus City during
the First Administration,” the old
liar started. “I was quite a lad in
those days — nothing fazed me-— had
quite a name on Venus, and in the
days of the First Administration men
were really men.

“Two of them I remember particu-
larly — fine fellows, remarkable men.
The three of us made a trio that
could literally take the Green Planet
apart and put it together again
whenever we wished. I remember
in particular this expedition the three
of us conducted into the dangerous
Nordiff country in pursuit of the elu-
sive and highly valuable Porgill.”

“Porgill?” queried Professor Grey,
wide-eyed, now completely snared.

With one smooth, j>racticed mo-
tion the colonel downed an inspira-
tional snort. “Yes, Porgills are the
primary stage in the development of
the mature Nordiff.”

“Er . . . and the . . . ah . . .
Nordiff?” the professor asked doubt-
fully. He seemed to think he should
know. The colonel nodded.

“Remarkable beast, the Nordiff.
Somewhat resembles a Terrestrial
tree frog, if you can imagine a tree
frog eight feet high. Immensely pow-
erful brutes, make a gorilla look like
a child — extremely ferocious at cer-
tain seasons. They were the hazard
of our expedition, but not the objec-
tive. We were after the Porgills.
PorgUl oil is, as you undoubtedly
know, indispensable in the treatment
of the allergj' induced by the spores
of the Martian Canal Vine.”

“Martian Canal Vine?” the pro-
fessor inquired vaguely. “I don’t re-
call—”

“Has many other uses,, too,” the
colonel side-stepped neatly. “The
Porgills start out as eggs, you know,
hatch into two-foot eellike creatures
and e\’entually develop into their
mature six-foot length. Their in-
credibly powerful swimming tail
splits to form the hind legs of the
Nordiff, their front fins develop into
the forelegs. They are covered with
viciously sharp spines like the quills
of a porcupine. In its raw state, y’
know, Porgill oil is one of the deadli-
est poisons known to science. A sin-
gle drop on any bare skin can cause
a terribly painful death in a matter'
of hours, and there is no known anti-
dote. The merest scratch from the
spines of a Porgill would be the finish
of a man. But this did not deter us,
although it was by no means the
only danger of the expedition.”

FISH STORY

103

•

Sean Fane originated the idea.
Qirite a character. One of the fellows
we knew a.s Hill Rats — knew Venus
like the palm of his hand.

“It can be done,” he said to me.
“It’ll be risky, but I feel it can be
♦lone. If we can just get into the
country, snag a couple of Porgills
apiece an’ get out again, we’ll be
sittin’ pretty for tbe next ten years.
But it’ll take real m®n — that’s why
T come to you, colonel.”

Naturally, I took him up immedi-
ately. I was never one to let an op-
portunity like that slip by, and I
recommended , a third party, young
Don Terry. He was just the man
we wanted — a mining engineer. We
were all experienced bushmen and
took no time at all to get under way.
We were well equipped, took a cou-
ple of heavy-duty atomic projectors
as well a.s"our usual side arms, and a
considerable amount of Dutrol, for
in that mountainous country you
never can tell when it will be neces-
sary to blast one’s own trail.

It’s hot on Venus,, particularly at
that season — terrifically hot. We
were plagued constantly by the Ve-
nusian bush flies as our way led us
along the eastern face of ^lartin’s
Deep. It was incredibly tough going
— nothing like it on Mars or Earth.
We finally emerged after a week onto
a high, rugged plateau.

“Nordiff country,” Sean explained.
The high-pitched, maniacal laughter
by which the animals warned us off
was the only evidence we had of their
presence. Three days later we came
out of the jungle and sighted the end
of our trail. Ahead of us the coun-
try dipped down into the tremendous
jqngle-crammed crater of Porgill
Lake, The lake itself was a cumu-
lous plume of white steam that tow-
ered up miles away, again.st the far
wall of the crater.

“Well, here we are boys,” Sean

said as we stood on the broken, rocky
shores of the lake six hours later.
“She’s a liciui^l bonanza. All we
gotta do is snag ’em and drag ’em.”

We whipped ourselves a raft to-
gether in no time at all and started
out onto the lake. It twi.sted its nar-
row, writhing length away from us,
green and placid to the mile-high
cliffs that surrounded the lake where
it cut into the wall of the grater.
Steam rose from .several points; a
vast tower of it billowed at the far
end.

Don was impatient to get started,
so we put our lines over the side, but
the wretched Porgills ignored every
type of bait we had.

“Nothing for it but to try an* gaff
’em,” Sean decided. “Gol dern, it
makes me mad to see ’em swimmin’
so placid down there.”

It was aggravating, too. There
they were, a semitran.sparent green,
hardly distinguishable from the
.smooth, volcanic mud bottom.
There was a school of a dozen or
more, each one worth a fortune, and
we could see the darkness of their
pseudo-skeletons shadowed through
their bodies.

Under my instructions, Don rigged
a hook on a long pole and plunged
it into the depths. We saw it strike
home into qne of them.

“Got it,” Don grunted.

Sean and I gave him a hand. Be-
tween us we got the Porgill almost
to the surface, then it gave a twist
which tore the hook out of the soft
blubber and it darted down again to
the bottom.

Sean swore volubly. You can un-
derstand how he felk It was so much
money slipping through his hands.

“Give me that pole. I’ll do bet-
ter meself.”

And damned if he dkln’t, too. He
hooked the next one firmly back of
the head. He was a fighter, this one.

104

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Fight! I never saw anything like it.
He almost broke the pole with his
squirming. Think of it! Six feet of
diabolical ferocity, lashing about be-
side our small raft. The least touch
of one of those spikes meant horrible
death! Don lost his balance in the
tussle and fell overboard. It was a
battle of giants. Sean and I stum-
bling about in our effort to retain
the pole. Then suddenly I saw fleets
of oil on the surface of the water and
I realized our danger. If one of
those deadly spots touched us it was
all over.

“Let go!” I cried. “Let go; there’s
death splashing around us!”*

I saw Sean pale visibly as his
hands reluctantly let go of the pole.
Our captive vanished into the
depths. The oil patches began to
spread their moribund horror over
the water and we pulled Don onto
the raft just in time!

It was plain that attempting to
catch Porgills in an orthodox manner
was courting disaster. It was obvi-
ous that ingenuity was necessary, so
naturally Don and Sean looked to
me. Of course, the first move was
to explore the lake. We continued
along the length of it and came to
the end. Here it spread out into a
basin some two hundred yards
across, surrounded by vast, gleam-
ing walls, towering thousands of feet
to the skyline.

The dazzling gleam from the pure
white walls prevented us from see-
ing much of anything till we attached
the Polaroid screens to our bush hats.
Then we could see that the shimmer-
ing whiteness was based on solid,
black lava. Steam boomed and
thundered skyward in vast clouds
from the wall opposite the entrance.

“Keep her steady in the middle of
the lake here,” Sean advised. “Those
cliffs are all rotten. Look at ’em, just

hanging together, liable to fall any
minute.”

He was right. They were falling
even now. Small fragments were pat-
tering steadily into the water.

“Let’s go over and take a look at
that,” I suggested.

“I don’t like it,” Sean said. “We’re
looking for trouble.”

But when he saw that I was de-
termined in spite of the obvious dan-
ger, he ’and Don helped paddle the
raft. We came to the foot of the
wall. Tiny crystals showered steadily
around us. I was just reaching up
with a pole to knock some loose when
Don yelled:

“Lwk out!”

We paddled furiously away as a
huge mass of crystals plunged down
on us. We barely made it. The ava-
lanche struck one end of the raft,
sending a spray of water and crys-
tals over us. We managed to stay
on board.

“Let’s get away from this!” Sean
said.

I examined the crystals as he and
Don paddled out to the middle of the
lake. They had a bitter taste that I
recognized instantly.

“Magnesium sulphate,” I said.
“Those mountainous walls are pure
Epsom salts!” I had the first glim-
mering of an idea.

“Let’s go back to camp,” Don sug-
gested. “I’ve had enough of this
place.”

“Not yet,” I said. “First let us
examine the source of that steam.”

We paddled the raft to the south
side of the shaft and found a six-
foot pool of bubbling lava that was
causing all the trouble. It was evi-
dently the last stand of a considera-
ble lava flow that the lake had cooled
off and dammed up. I could see in

an instant that it would be a simple
matter to stimulate the eruption to
greater activity by the judicious
placing of some charges of Dutrol.

“There’s nothing here that can
help us,” Don said gloomily.

“Fortune! Right in our grasp,”
Sean exclaimed. “And we don’t dare
touch it.”

“And we never will be able to
touch it,” Don seconded. “We might
as well forget this whole crazy busi-
ness while we are still alive, l^et’s
get out of here. I’m fed up.”

But Don was wrong. The features
of this end of the lake had formed a
chain of thought in ray mind. There
was one vital link missing, however,
so I said nothing and let them have
their waJ^

We paddled out of the basin and
back down the lake toward the
point where we had embarked. Just
as we were stepping ashore a sudden
gust of incredibly frigid air struck,
cleaving through our light, tropical
clothing like the thrust of a knife.

“My God, wdiat’s that? Wc’ll be
frozen,” Don chattered.

Sean laughed. “Happens every
night up here in the mountains. I’ve
heard tell that the night wind can
put ice on a lake like this in less than
an hour. AYe better get a fire going.”

I stood stock-still in the icy blast.
The idea was suddenly complete. I
knew now what we were going to do.
I told Don and Sean nothing as we
made camp that night. The plan
•seemed fantastic even to me, but in
the cold, gray light of the morning I
felt convinced that it was feasible.

Don and Sean were prepared to
give up and pull out for Venus City,
but I insisted that they accompany
me once again to the end of the lake.
I told them nothing of my thoughts,
but such w as their confidence in my
resourcefulness that they came with-
out (juestion, although they must
have wondered why I ordered them
to load both our hcavj-duty projec-

I0«

Silver Star

Western Story Magazine
$1500

Prize Competition

C onducted iointiy by Dodd,

Mead & Co. and Street & Smith
for the best Western Novel-Seriol of
1941,

The purpose of this competition is to
give to new writers— and to those
whose talent has not heretofore been
sufficiently recognized — a unique op-
portunity to make a name for them-
selves in the Western story field.
Dodd, Mead & Co., publishers of
books, founded in 1839, and Street
& Smith, publishers of magazines,
founded in 1855, are among the
oldest in their respective fields. The
winning story in this prize contest,
therefore, gives the public obsolute
assuronce of the highest quolity in
V/estern writing.

The competition closes on July 1, 1941
— end is open to anyone who hos
never had a book issued under the
Silver Star imprint. Write today for
full rules about the contest, ond ad-
dress your letters to WESTERN
STORY Contest, Street 4 Smith, 79
Seventh Avenue, New York City.
This is really a wonderful chance for
ony author of Western stories — so
act now!

106

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

tors and all our Dutrol on board the
raft.

My subsequent action served only
to mystify them further. I told Don
what I wanted, and he, using his
knowledge as a mining engineer, di-
rected the placing of charges of Du-
trol around the lava vent. We also
circled the base of the cliffs surround-
ing the great arena with a continuous
ring of judiciously placed explosives.
We had several extremely narrow es-
capes during this latter operation,
but luck was with us. On one occa-
sion a huge mass of crystal thun-
dered down, missing me by a hair-
breadth, but, nothing daunted, I
carried on till we had finished the
task. It had been hard, dangerous
work, and were dead tired when we
returned to camp.

“I don’t see the sense of all this,”
Don complained. “I wish you’d tell
us what’s in the back of your mind,
Clavenger. How’s this going to help
us catch Porgills?”

Sean backed him up. “That’s
right. I reckon we ought to know
what’s going on.”

But I resolutely refused to tell
them of my plans. I w’as not sure
enough of them myself. However, I
managed to restore their confidence.
There was no time to be lost. This
was dangerous country in which to
linger. Any time now the mating
season for the Nordiffs would begin,
and this lake, where they laid their
eggs, was the focal point of their ac-
tivities. Once the mating season
started we would be in the deadliest
peril, for, during this time the bull
Nordiffs ranged through the jungle,
killing every other type of wild life
they came in contact with.

In spite of the protests of my two
companions we worked all that night
by torchlight, cutting lengths of
thick, porous vines and lashing them

into rafts. Before morning we had
launched a veritable armada, a siza-
ble task for any three men, and I
must admit we were a little tired.

Just before dawn I fired the
charges we had planted around the
lava vent. A tremendous, continu-
ing rumble of sound told me that
that part of my plan was working,
the lava was flooding into the lake.

Both Sean and Don wished to rest
with the coming of daylight, but I
drove them inexorably. By noon we
had anchored all the rafts in the po-
sitions I had selected. The water
was getting hotter all the time, and
Don thought he realized something
of what I planned.

“You are going to kill them by
boiling,” he said triumphantly.

“No, that won’t work,” Sean said.
“Heat don’t hurt them critters none.
They like swimming around right
next to that volcano.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “That is not
my plan at all.”

“Then what the devil is it.^” Don
demanded.

“Perhaps this may tell you some-
thing,” I said as we went ashore and
I used the radio detonator to fire the
charges we had placed around the
bottom of the basin walls. The blast
released a tremendous, crystalline
avalanche that roared down into the
far end of the lake.

“From here on it’s up to the
weather,” I said, but Don still didn’t
understand. We spent the rest of
the day building a shelter of lava
chunks, then waited for the wind.

It came, shortly after dusk, her-
alded by a low, moaning wail front
the tops of the mile-high cliffs sur-
rounding the lake. It increased
steadily in power until it was a deaf-
ening roar all around us. High above
we could see great tangled masses of
jungle torn from the cliff tops and
sw’ept overhead in the screaming

Rale. Tlie darkness -of the storm
swallowed up the last of the linger-
ing ilaylight. Then the lightning
came — a long, shuddering blast of
light that .seared acro.ss the whole
vast, mad .sky. The harsh, shatter-
ing rip of thunder slammed the dark-
ness back.

We ooidd feel the cold seeping in
on «fs and rolled into our sleeping
bags for warmth. We were so ex-
hauste<l that we slept like babies in
.spite of the noise and cold.

The cold awakened me shortly
after dawn. The storm was still go-
ing full bhust. I fought my way
♦lown to the edge of the lake. Ev-
erything was just as I had expected.
Sean and Don swore as I roused
them, but sleepily followed me down
to the lake. The wind whip])ed
spray freezingly over us.

“What’s the big idea.^’’ Don
growled. “Have you gone crazy.^”

“Patience, my young friend,” 1 ad-
vised. “We are now going to catch
Porgills.” *

“How are you going to do that in
this storm.’” Sean demanded.

“IxM)k there,” ^ said, and pointed
to what appearetl to be a log |jound-
ing around in the edge of the surf.
I waded in and heave<l it ashore.
“That’s how we’ll catch them,” I .said
triumphantly. Don and Sean gazed
<lown at the object in stupefaction.

“It’s a Porgill!” .Sean gasped.
“Parceled up as neat as you like!”

“What happened to it.’” Don de-
manded. The deadly spines and |X)i-
sonous oil of the Porgill at their feet
were sealed harmlessly within a
gleaming tomb.

“It’s very simple,” I explained. “I
merely used these magnesium sul-
phate cliffs, the volcano, and the
wind to create a lake of supersatu-
rated .solution.”

“I .still don’t get it,” Sean ex-
claimc«l. “How did you know the
critters would get cased up like this.”

“Matter of elementary chemis-

★

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108

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

try,” T told him. “The waters of the
lake, heated by the volcano which I
had excited, were charged with a tre-
mendous quantity of dissolved Ep-
som salts. Now the wind has cooled
the lake and the water cannot retain
the salt in solution. As you know,
anything that moves in a supersatu-
rated solution is immediately sur-
rounded by crystals. Come, there is
work to be done.”

Enthusiastically we paddled out
to the first of our anchored rafts and
started pulling in the Porgills that
kept rising to the surface in ever-
increasing numbers, locked rigidly
helpless inside their crystal mummy
cases. We labored all that day and
far into the following night before
we lu»d loaded our last raft to the
jx)int of foundering with a tremen-
dous fortune in Porgill oil.

As we clambered ashore, a dim
figure rose before us, its red eyes
burning with maniacal ferocity. In-
stantly I knew it was a bull Nordiff.

“Watch out!” I screamed at Don
as he unsuspectingly scrambled up
the beach. With a roar, the enraged
creature charged at him. With un-
wavering precision I fired from the
hip; the projector flamed. The head-
less botly of the Nordiff fell on top
of Don. Frantically we dragged him
clear.

“We’ve got to get out of here,”
Sean shouted above the wail of the
storm. “The Nordiffs are on the
march!”

THE

Hastily we gathered our equip-
ment and fled into the jungle. Time
after time we encountered bands of
Nordiffs. With our heavy-duty pro-
jectors we slaughtered the beasts by
thousands, but they gave us no rest,
surging again and again to the at-
tack. Through it all I led the way,
unerringly back to Martin’s Deep.
Here we fired the jungle and closed
the trail behind us. At last we were
safe.

Two days later we were back in
Venus City and had dispatched a
ship to haul the captive Porgills into
the city.

“And that,” concluded the colonel,
“finished one of the most exhausting
fishing expeditions I ever took part
in. It was days before we got the
saltiness out of our throats — Thank
you, straight this time. Eh? What?
The bar is closed? Blasted officious-
ness! #

The colonel rose to his feet indig-
nantl,v. “Glad to have met you, pro-
fessor. Most enjo,vable_ evening.”
“One moment, colonel,” interposed
the professor. “You must have made
a considerable amount of money out
of that expedition — ”

“We did. Most certainly we did.
But the price of refreshment as it
is — Good night, gentlemen.”

“You know,” said the professor
doubtfully, “I can’t remembw pre-
cisely whether crystals do float in a
supersaturated solution.”

END.

By Harry Ulalton

The subtruisers were dangerous enough with-
out a drunken skipper and a treasonous mate!

Illustrated by Schneeman

The first thing he recognized on
waking was his cap dangling along-
side the chronometer. Delft blue
parma cloth, black plastoid visor,
gold band with “S.S.C. im-

printed in black, and centered above j
the single gold star of a captain in j
the subspace cruiser division. -3

He sat up, ^oaning softly with J

the ache in his back. The chro- ||

11 «

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

noraeter said eleven forty-two, but
that meant nothing to him. He re-
Jiiembered stopping with Sanger at
the Golden Rocket. They’d started
with a couple of drinks, and probably
he’d taken enough to pass out. San-
ger must have taken him back to
the ship. A good first officer, Sanger.
Rut it was easy to depend too much
upon a first.

Especially after Wilkins and the
W-6.

He’d have to brave up before go-
ing out on patrol again. At this
rate, he’d soon be reduced to an en-
sign. This was war; the Venusians
had killed other good men besides
Wilkins. That Terra was holding
out was due chiefly to the defense
patrol and the sub cruisers; there
was his job and the W-12 to be han-
dled.

But right now he felt like the
devil. Head ached, mouth tasted
like the inside of a blast tender’s
glove, and he felt as limp as if he’d
been sandbagged.

Right now he’d be willing to spend
the rest of his liberty time flat on
his back.

Captain Paul W^ythe closed his
eyes, sank back in the bunk. Con-
fused, chaotic thoughts drifted
through his mind. It had been hard
to think straight, ever since the W-6.
But why think at all, with the ship
cradled at Base.?

His eyes jerked open, and he sat
up abruptly, the movement sending
pain shooting through him. The
chronometer still meant nothing.
What had bothered him was that
the night light’s glow wasn’t steady.
It pulsated a bit, although fed by a
perfectly smooth D.C. source. Only
cross-induction between the light-
ing mains and the Rexdallian con-
verters ever caused that 20-cycle
pulse.

But the Rexdallians wouldn’t be
running if the W-J2 were at Base.

His feet hit the floor with a bang.
W’eaving slightly with dizziness, he
staggered through the corridor to
Central Control. From their sub-
cruising stations before inductance
rheos and trimmer condensers men
stared at him briefly, faces rigid with
discipline, but eyes openly expressive
of contempt. Sanger was bending
over the subscope plate.

Wythe clung to a manifold to
keep from teetering. “Lieutenant
Sanger! Please report to my quar-
ters.”

The first’s head snapped up.. He
stared at Wythe with unconcealed
concern.

“At once, sir.” In three .steps he
was at Wythe’s side, offering him the
support of an arm. Wythe saw Bei-
linson, at the trim meters, turn away
with a grimace.

Back in his room, he was obliged
to sit down.

“Please explain your taking over,
lieutenant,” he said. “Also why you
didn’t see fit to call me.”

Sanger stood respectfully at atten-
tion. “It seemed very necessary,
sir — ^the Golden Rocket, you know.
A messenger found us there, with
orders for special patrol, replacing
the M-32. You . . . you didn’t taJke
any notice, sir. I signed for the
orders — ”

He hesitated, obviously embar-
rassed.

“For God’s sake, Sanger, are you
telling roe I was drunk.?”

“Well — ^it’s understandable, ' Sir
— ^you were a close friend of Wilkins.
I got you aboard without trouble.”

“Damn!” breathed Wythe. “I
don’t remember drinking that
much.”

“No harm done, sir. Everything’s
humming. You have only to take

SUBCRUISER

111

over when ready. Hope I did the
right thing — ”

Wythe groaned inwardly. Too
<lrunk to sign for his own orders!

“Thank you, Sanger. Sorry to
have caused you trouble.”

“None at all, sir. Any orders.^”
Wythe looked up at the lieuten-
ant’s trim figure, buttons agleam
against the neat blue uniform, cap
right, eyes gravely respectful.

“Yes. Don’t . . . don’t help me
before the men. If I can’t stand
on my own feet, let me drop. I —
damn it, that’s all.”

Sanger’s hand snapped to his visor.
He about-faced, vanished.

Wythe gulped down a double
bromo, stared into the washstand
mirror. He was a year older than
Sanger, looked ten. A day’s growth
of beard blued his jaw. His hair
was tousled — he’d gone before the
men without his cap, he suddenly
realized. Eyes were bloodshot and
smarted badly. *

He bathed his face with ice water,
combed his hair, cursed because it
was impossible to shave, and went
back to Central Control. The men
didn’t even glance at him this time.
Tense as always during subspace
operation, when their lives might de-
pend upon a split-second decision
on the part of a potential trimmer,
they kept their eyes upon the in-
struments as Wythe crossed the
C.C.’deck and climbed stiffly into
the observation turret.

Plasfoid ports showed only the
dead, tangible blackness of subspace;
Sun, stars and planets were snuffed
into nothingness. Somewhere nearby
Terra rolled around the Sun, but for
all the eye could tell might have
been a million parsecs distant. In
fact, while in subcruising trim the
W-12 could have pierced the Earth
from pole to pole without effort be-

yond some quick adjustments on the
part of her trimmers. The laws of
three-dimensional space, suspended
between herself and normal bodies,
were maintained for ship and crew
by the artificial space field created
by her Rexdallians.

No blaze of rockets marked the
. tail flare; the W-12 swept stealthily
along on kinetic polarity plates, pow-
ered by batteries under the engine
room.

Wythe cut in the turret detectors,
watched red needles swing to. nega-
tive indication as the detector screen
began its three hundred si.\ty de-
gree swing. There were similar de-
tectors in the C.C., upon which San-
ger would note the presence of enemy
craft. The turret watch was super-
fluous, but AVythe preferred it to the
alternatives of crawling back into
his bunk or standing watch with
Sanger under the contemptuous eyes
of the crew.

Minutes passed. Patrol was a
routine busine.ss — cruise until bat-
teries were half discharged, then re-
turn to normal space operation by
rockets while turbo-generators re-
charged the batteries. Then back
to subcruising again.

A flickering needle snapped Wythe
to attention. Red arrows quivered
to rest as the automatic screen swung
to indication. Venusian twelve thou-
sand miles to port. Wythe snapped
on the interphone. Sanger would
be giving orders to come about.

The phone was, incredibly, silent.

His head pounding, Wythe won-
dered whether he were fully awake.
But the indication was as definite as
a ten-inch shell. He leaned toward
the phone, then realized that San-
ger was in charge of the C.C. and,
therefore, of the ship. To give or-
ders from the turret would result in
ragged, doubtful obedience.

Wythe crawled back into Central

113

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Control, stopping beside the helms-
man to note their course.

“Bear p>ort fourteen points,” he
ordered.

Sanger snapped erect at the words.
“Steady as you go, helmsman.” His
eyes met Wythe’s apologetically.
“May I speak to you, sir?”

Grimly Wythe crossed the C.C.
and looked at the detectors beside
the subscope plate. The needles lay
dead against the pins.

“I think you’d better explain,
lieutenant,” he said harshly, “why
your detectors are dead and why,
with a Venusian off our port, you
tell the helmsman to ignore my order
to change course.”

The first’s eyes flashed resent-
ment. “If the captain will read his
orders, he will find instructions to
ignore enemy ships until the W-12
reaches a certain special objective.”

Wythe felt a slow flush mount to
his face. He’d presumed from San-
ger’s remarks, tlyit the orders were
the usual patrol instructions.

“I shall read them now,” he said
quietly.

Sanger’s upper lip, with its small
blond mustache, twitched slightly.
“In my quarters, captain.”

Wythe preceded him, certain of
following stares, but glad that San-
ger offered him no help this time.
He accepted Sanger’s invitation to
sit down in the tiny cabin. Stand-
ing, even under fifty percent arti-
ficial gravity, rapidly tired him.

“I realize I should have ac-
quainted you with the orders, sir,”
said Sanger, once more respectful,
“but didn’t care to trouble you need-
lessly.”

Wythe met the man's pale-blue
eyes. “You concern yourself need-
lessly, lieutenant. I am still cap-
tain of this ship.”

“Certainly, sir. Sorry if I over-

stepped my duty. Your orders — ”

Wythe toqk the sheaf of pages,
leafed through them rapidly. Rou-
tine forms, with a brief typed note
ordering him to take over the patrol
duties of the lost M-S2.

“There’s nothing here about ig-
noring enemy ships or a special ob-
jective,” he protested. “You will — ”

Further words stuck in his throat.
Sanger was facing him over the thick
barrel of a neuro-cerebral paralysis
gun.

“You will be incapable of giving
further orders,” murmured the first
officer, “because of a very obvious
disability — the men are witness to
the fact that you can scarcely walk
straight.”

“This is mutiny! Are you crazy,
Sanger?”

“Hardly. You see, captain, the
W-12 has a special objective, al-
though not one assigned by Terra’s
Base.”

“So you’re acting for Venus?
You’ll never make it, Sanger. My
crew — ”

“My crew,” the first interrupted
softly, “has confidence in me — but
none at all in you, captain. They
will believe whatever I tell them.
For weeks you’ve given a convinc-
ing performance of a brilliant com-
mander going to pieces — you can
hardly expect the men to be sur-
prised if you keep to your quarters.
Naturally, I can’t allow you the
freedom of the ship — ” •

“You mean to turn this ship over
to Venus? For Terra’s sake,' Sanger,
think! Subships are our ace — if the
Venusians learn to build them we’re
sunk. Thej’’ll be able to bomb the
daylights out of both hemispheres.
You’re an Earthman, Sanger. Give
up this scheme and we’ll forget the
incident, I swear. You’ll go up in
the service — my word on it.”

Sanger shook his head. “A touch-

SUBCRUISER

115

ing offer, captain. You offer me the
chance to continue risking my life
for Terra! Venus has rather bet-
tered your price — but I’ve got to get
back, or the men will begin to won-
der. Know anything about paraly-
sis guns? They’re very effective,
and harmless — I’d hate to kill you,
.captain. You’re worth far more
alive. So I’m going to beam you at
quarter charge. Think carefully.
If, when you come to, you decide to
call for help, the beam will be .set
for full charge next time. By the
time others see you, you’ll be para-
lyzed — with an open bottle of liquor
spilling over your uniform. Yoiir
condition will answer all questions.
And now — ”

From the gun issued a blue flash.
There w’as no projectile, but Wythe
felt suddenly as though he had been
clubbed. His muscles were rigid,
there was a fiery prickling around
his heart, his pounding headache was
mercifullj' dulled. He saw Sanger
lift him into the bunk, straighten his
legs. Then the first officer closed
his eyelids and Wythe could see no
more, but he heard the door close,
the lock click.

He could not judge how long he
lay there. At times it seemed hours,
then again only seconds since Sanger
had left. The confusion of time
sense was characteristic of gun-
induced paralysis.

But he W’as bitterly capable of
thought. Sanger meant to deliver
the W-t2 intact to Venus; by dis-
mantling the ship the enemy would
learn the vital secrets of the Rex-
dallian generators. He, as captain,
W’as to be delivered with the ship.
Tender hypnotic serums he’d tell all
he knew about its construction and
operation. Soon Venusian-built sub-
ships would be laj’ing waste the
Earth.

Sanger didn’t want to attack the

Venusian aport, not because of any
sentimental regard for his allies, but
because the W-12’s first .shot would
register upon the other ship’s reso-
nance detectors and bring about
Sanger’s ears a barrage of neu-
tronium mines. He had nothing to
gain either by taking that risk -or
by blowing up the Venusian. Prob-
ably he "had a rendezvous with a dis-
guised enemy cruiser. Under pre-
text of a “special mission” he could
lay alongside the stranger and allow
armed men — Venusians — to come
aboard. The W-12 would probably
be taken without a shot.

Better for them all, better far for
Terra, if the enemy ship just aport
blew them to fragments.

But Sanger would dodge Terrestial
and Venusian ships alike until he
reached his rendezvous with Venu-
sians who would recognize the W-12.

It was as much his fault as San-
ger’s, Wythe told himself fiercely.
Since the W-6 had been crushed be-
fore his eyes he’d drunk too much,
depended upon the first too much,
allowed himself to lose the respect
of his men. His authority had been
undermined until Sanger was the
real master of the W-12.

Wythe’s eyes suddenly opened,
although for a time he could not
move the pupils, and had to stare at
the fluorescent ceiling bulb fixedly.
Gradually he regained control of his
facial muscles, arms, and legs. At
last he was able to rise stiffly, rub
his aching limbs, and try the door.

It was locked, of course. Who-
ever heard his call for help would
have to get Sanger to work the lock
combination, and somehow Sanger
would get rid of witnesses long
enough to set the stage as he had
threatened. And that would be that.

By Sanger’s chronometer the
paralysis had lasted only twenty

114

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

minutes; the Venusian caught by the
detectoi’s couldn’t be more than fif-
teen thousand miles away, was prob-
ably listening for subships on its
resonance detectors. Operating on
batteries, the W-12 was practically
undetectable, for the Rexdallians
didn’t register on resonance detec-
tors. But loose connections, an arc-
ing battery plate, or an unshielded
motor operating in defiance of regu-
lations frequently did betray sub-
ships to a listening enemy.

Not likely that Sanger would al-
low any stray spark oscillations to
go out from the W-12. No operat-
ing center, not even the crew’s quar-
ters, would escape his watchful eyes.

Except this room, his own!

Desperately Wythe looked about
for something with which to accom-
plish his purpose. There was no fan,
only a circulation register. Sanger’s
razor? Electric shavers sparked
abundantly; their use was forbidden
during subspace operation.

Wythe yanked open the cabinet
over the sinlc. On a shelf lay an
archaic straight razor. Sanger
shaved with brush and soap!

I'he outlet beside the mirror could
be short-circuited with the wire clip
pinned to the order folio. But there
would be only one spark before the
circuit breakers opened, and even if
the Venusians caught it, it would
jaeld no accurate bearing indica-
tions.

There remained the lighting fix-
ture. Wythe dragged the chair under
it, let lamp and socket dangle after
unscrewing the mounting rim, and
bent one wire back and forth until
it broke. The bulb winked out. By
touch alone he brought the severed
ends together. The lamp flashed on
and off and a small spark snapped
repeatedly as he plied the wire.

It was only a seventy-watt spark.
Such a small fluctuation wouldn’t

show on the switchboard; the great
danger was that somebody might
notice the flashing through the door
transom.

For five minutes he continued,
fuming as it became apparent that
the Venusian was taking no notice.
The spark’s amplitude must be too
small to register fifteen thousand
miles away —

The door lock clicked suddenly.

He left the room in darkness as the
door opened, Sanger’s figure a black
outline against the corridor light,
the paralysis gun ready. From chair
height Wythe jumped him. The
shock hurled them both to the floor,
and at once they were locked in a
silent struggle for possession of the
weapon. Every latent pain in
Wythe’s body seemed to spring alive
as they thrashed about. Pain rocked
his senses as Sanger knocked his head
viciously against the floor. Strength
ebbed as a gray tide of unconscious-
ness threatened to roll over him, and
he was unable to keep the gun from
coming around to bear on his chest.

A sudden shock, like the blow of
a giant sledge, rocked the W-12
under them.

Neutronium mine!

It had gone wide, but there would
surely be more, deadly little neu-
tronium spheres, given a negative
energy charge that revolved them
into subspace at a predetermined
time after launching. In subspace,
neutronium disintegrated violently,
setting up a shock wave that could
be fatal to a subship a hundred miles
away.

Sanger suddenly scrambled free,
took aim, and fired point blank at
Wythe. But a second shock thrust
the W-12 hard over, spoiling his aim.
Wythe felt a hammer blow in his left
shoulder, and at once went rigid.
For a moment Sanger stared at him,
then ran toward the C.C,

SUBCRUISER

115

When Sanger was out of sight
Wythe groggily got to his feet. The
beam hadn’t hit a nerve center; only
his left arm was useless. He felt the
deck lurch as the ship came hard
to starboard. Sanger was trying to
outrun the mines. The next shock
was feeble. Then came a shudder of
a different sort as the W-12 showed
her teeth with a barrage from her
stern guns. The explosive shells,
hurled back into normal space by a
Ilexdallian vortex field at the in-
stant of firing, could pierce the
heaviest armor the Venusians pos-
sessed. Evidently Sanger felt that
his own salvation now depended
upon destroying the enemy ship, but
the firing of his magnetic guns was
sure to betray his location still more
accurately.

With grim satisfaction Wythe felt
the Venusian’s reply — ^two severe
shocks. The disintegration waves,
spread through the rigid continuum
that was subspace, struck the W-12
like steel hammers.

He dragged himself to the C.C.,
watched Sanger hurl orders from his
jK>st before the subscope. Men,
fighting for their fives, paid Wythe
no attention as he approached the
first officer from behind, intent upon
securing the paralysis gun. Upon
the viewplate appeared the slender
Venusian ship, mine discharge tubes
aglow at her stern. She was aim-
ing, of course, by detector co-
orflinates. But whereas the rigidity
of subspace made a “hit” anywhere
within a hundred miles dangerous to
the W-12, Sanger’s own fire could
score against the enemy only with
a direct impact.

A tremendous blow almost stood
the subship on end, knocked Wythe
sprawling. Sanger bellowed into the
interphone, and again came the
shudder of the W-12's stern guns.
Wythe dragged himself erect and

AST— 8

again approached Sanger. On the
viewplate he saw that the Venusian
was still launching mines.

A splash of blinding light, sud-
denly, where the slender, thousand-
fcot hull had been — come and gone
within a hundredth of a second, al-
though its searing impress remained
far longer upon the retina.

Within the range of the subscope
not even wreckage remained. A
shell must have burst inside the
Venusian’s fuel tanks.

In rapid succession four shocks
hammered the W-12 as mines, fired
just before the enemy ship had been
struck, exploded. There was a
breathless pause — then a fifth shock,
a terrific impact that wracked the
cruiser from bow to stern.

Wythe saw the floor roll up, then
felt himself sliding to starboard in
a tangle of men. The lights winked
out; he brought up in pitch darkness
against something soft. Groping
hands brushed his face. Then the
emergency bulbs lit dimly, and by
their feeble glow men struggled to
their feet. One dangled a broken
arm. Wythe looked for Sanger and
found him crumpled against the for-
ward bulkhead, blood oozing from
his scalp.

“Park and Benson, attend the
wounded,” Wythe ordered. He
limped to the commander’s post, ad-
dressed the interphone. “Report
casualties.”

There was no answer at first.

“Engine room reporting, sir,” the
electrician’s voice came through. “I
think the stern gun room was wiped
out.”

“How do we stand, Elston?”

“One Rexdallian’s gone. Jack-
son’s putting out a couple of flash-
overs in the battery room. Rexdal-
lian draw is pretty heavy.”

“Check,” said Wythe. “Forward
gun room report.”

11 «

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

The voice that answered was harsh
with strain. “Two men killed by
a squeeze forward. Our shield’s fail-
ing four inches a minute.”

“Abandon forward gun room,”
snapped Wythe. “Elston, cut out
the forward shields as soon as Falk
reports clear. Shut down your kin-
etic drive. Emergency lights only.
Save all the juice you can.”

He received acknowledgment, saw
that Sanger and the other wounded
man had been taken to quarters.
The others were watching him curi-
ously. He checked the detectors
again. Nothing registered. It would
be safe to return to normal trim until
all the damage was checked and re-
paired and the depleted batteries re-
charged.

“Stand by to trim off,” he or-
dered. “Elston, you ready?”

“The Rex’s are hot, sir,” the elec-
trician responded doubtfully, “There
will be an overload, with the shorts
we have.”

“They won’t get any cooler. Trim-
mers stand by — ”

Wythe looked around in amaze-
ment. The men weren’t at their
.stations, but gathered around him
in a tight little knot of scowling
faces. He felt his own gaze falter
before theirs. They knew' him for
.1 drunken incompetent. Under his
leadership they were no longer a
crew, but only seven men with the
spark of rebellion smoldering in
them, and fear feeding its sullen
fire.

“What’s wrong. Park?” he asked
quietly.

“We’d rather not go normal, sir,
until Lieutenant Sanger can take
over,” the man answered bluntly.

Wythe looked from one set face
to the next, forcing himself to meet
their stares squarely. “Neverthe-
less, you will take your stations to
trim off.”

Nobody moved.

“We’re afraid you’ll blow the Rex-
dallians trying,” Park blurted.

“I’ve w'eighed that risk,” said
Wythe icily.

“Yes, sir, but if Lieutenant San-
ger —

“The first officer is to be consid-
ered under arrest. So will any man
be who is not at his station when I
give the order to trim off.”

Sullenly the group dispersed, at
last stood ready, if unwillingly so,
for the effort of expanding the arti-
ficial cocoon of normal space sur-
rounding the W-I^ sufficiently to
overbalance the negative energy po-
tential of subspace and return the
vessel to its normal medium.

“Stations attention,” Wythe or-
dered crisply. “Trim off — ”

From beyond the bulkhead came
the rising roar of Rexdallians pushed
to their limit. Emergency and in-
strument lamps dimmed with the
terrific drain of current from spent
batteries. Before Wythe’s eyes
shield amplitude indicators crept up
as the converters fought back the
encroaching substratum. Men w'cre
rigid with the concentration of those
who literally hold their lives in their
hands. But Wythe’s indicators
moved steadily toward the green line
of safety that marked conversion
potential. Seconds more —

A SCUFF of sound, where had been
taut silence, brought Wythe’s head
around. Sanger stood in the door-
way, a crooked grin on his face, the
paralysis gun lifted. No one budged.
And as the W-I^ hung upon the
very threshold of safety, Sanger
fired. A trimmer swayed, fell stiffly,
locked fingers spinning about hi.s
condenser control before they tore
free.

The roar of Rexdallians at once
became a shriek, that ended abruptly

117

with the crash of opening circuit
breakers. Without warning emer-
gency bulbs flickered out. From out
of the darkness Elston’s voice rang
urgently.

“Half the C.C. shields burnt out,
sir. Can’t hold the rest more than
thirty seconds.”

“All hands to the engine compart-
ment,” Wythe ordered. “Park, see
that your casualty case is brought
along. Sanger, you’d better come,
• too.”

A pale beam of light shot across
the C.C. Benson had found a bat-
tery lamp. He and another man
lifted the paralyzed trimmer. The
lamp swung from Benson’s wrist,
shot random light upon familiar con-
trols and instruments, which prob-
ably none of them would ever see
again.

Upon the ceiling plates forward a
black spot was spreading rapidly.

“Squeeze!” Wythe announced.
“Hurry it.” He counted seven men
through the bulkhead door. “Last
chance, Sanger!”

Darkness and silence mocked him,
then a brittle snapping as a stress-
beam gave way before the squeeze.
Wythe flashed around the lamp Ben-
son had left him. The C.C. looked
ghostly; the black pall of disinte-
gration was spreading swiftly. He
entered the engine compartment,
dogged the door shut behind him.

Two small bulbs threw huge the
shadows of silent blast turbines and
alternators. With Elston, Wythe in-
spected the Rexdallians, one si-
lenced forever when a disintegration
wave had struck the gun room shield
and fed back. Its armature was
half disintegrated. The other two
were running hot.

“Think they’d carry a normal trim
load now, Elston.'*” Wythe shouted
above the racket.

“Not overheated like they are,
sir. That potential warp we had
nearly blew them. And they ain’t

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118

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

cooling — we’ve got shorts in the en-
gine room shield, and every one of
them takes ten times the juice a
good unit would, without carrying
any pressure. We can’t shut down
one Rex at a time because with all
those shorts it takes both to carry
Ihe load. They’ll just about hold
up until more shields break down.”

There was no more to be said.
Those who had listened to Elston’s
ultimatum turned away with a fa-
talistic calm and sat down wherever
they could find room. Some closed
their eyes, others starea apatheti-
cally into space. Wythe could think
of nothing to tell them, but he was
unable to .share their stolid resigna-
tion. He felt tinglingly alive now
that ileath .seemed close.

Elston had said “until,” not “un-
less.” It was inevitable that more
shield units, some of them prob-
ably already damaged, would fail.
How long.^ Should he, Wythe, put
to a vote the alternative of opening
the shield circuits.? It would be over
quickly —

He paused before the roaring con-
verters, their hot blast in his face.
The atmosphere was stifling, for
coolers had been shut off to save
energy. Like the men, he was sweat-
ing profusely.

The ammeters showed a tremen-
dous drain. Obviously current was
Ijouring into short-circuited units,
but as the latter were wired in banks,
it was impossible to cut out one
without cutting out several, which
would immediately result in a
.squeeze. Nor was it possible to tell,
from within the ship, just which were
the damaged units. Affixed to the
outer hull as their purpose required,
they were .'eplaceable only from out-
side the ship.

Wythe beckoned Elston to him.
“Break out your spare units. We’ll
replace the bad ones.”

“From outside.? My God, sir, you
can’t ask a man to try that. There’ll
be more going any minute.”

“I’m asking no one,” Wythe re-
torted. “Get me the units.”

Elston hurried off. The quarter-
master, Park, arose and approached
Wythe. “I’m willing to try it, sir.”

“Thanks, Park. We’ll both go —
there’s no time to lose.”

Their preparations were simple
— the spare coils hung about their
shoulders, heavy rubber gloves on
their hands, a flashlight fastened to
one wrist and a terminal wrench
to the other. Nobody spoke as the
outer hatch was opened. Eardrums
snapped with the drop in pressure
as air rushed out to fill the space
shield. In normal space the open-
ing of the hatch would have been
fatal, but here air could escape only
to the extent of the static membrane
dividing space 'from subspace, an in-
flexible “skin,” rigid as subspace it-
self, impermeable to matter, yet
utterly dependent upon the Rexdal-
lian shield for its existence. It was
this membrane that prohibited the
use of rockets or blast turbines, the
e.xhausts from which would build up
an external pressure, crushing the
ship.

Along the hand grips Wythe crept
up the curved hull. By their own
faint glow he could see the shield
units, extending in a narrow girdle
around the ship — a girdle the width
of the engine room. Where their
pattern was broken were the burnt-
out units. He threw the beam of
his lamp along the hull. Fore and
aft darkness engulfed the light. The
proud length of the W-1'2 was no
more. This maimed midsection was
all that remained of the- trim sub-
ship.

Wythe tore the feed wires free
from the nearest dead unit. They

SUBCRUISER

119

came away with a blazing red arc.
He ripped out the shorted coil,
bolted down a new one, and con-
nected it. Twenty feet away Park
was similarly busy.

On his eighth replacement Wythe
noticed, from the corner of his eye,
a brief upflare in the glow of a neigh-
boring unit. Instantly he flung
himself flat as the glow w'ent dead.
Gingerly he drew his knees up un-
der him, and found hips and chest
were pinned close to the hull by the
static membrane, which had formed
anew only a few inches above the
plates when the nearby unit went
dead, and was now maintained by
the thin, overlapping field of sur-
rounding units. Had he not fallen
flat he would have been decapitated
by the sudden collapse of the old
field.

Wriggling desperately, he struck
his head a solid, mind-shattering
blow against the empty blackness
above. For a moment he lay quiet,
recovering from nausea. The pres-
sure on his chest robbed him of
breath. Trying again, he found he
could not move an inch.

Then, cursing his stupidity, he re-
alized he could open the vise that
held him simply bj' replacing the
defective unit tw'o feet away. Sav-
agely he tore it free, jammed a new
one into place. The instant it was
connected the relentless pressure
upon him lifted.

From then on he lay flat and
crawled from unit to unit. Two
more winked out while he worked,
but at some distance from him.
Park had worked his way down-
ward under the battery room, and
was out of sight, when four blows
rang against the hull from wdthin,
Wythe tapped an answering signal
with his wrench.

Before crawling back he flashed
his lamp over what had been the

C.C. bulkhead, now aglow with
emergency shield units. There was,
of course, no more Central Control.
Hull plates ended in smooth edges
eighteen inches from the bulkhead.

Wedged down there between a
girder and a manifold was the inert
body of a man.

Sanger! The first officer must
have reached the safety of the bulk-
head shield at the last moment, ei-
ther to make a last bid for life — or
to take the others with him to death
by wTecking the shield units.

Wythe crawled down the mani-
fold. Sanger’s eyes were closed; his
left arm had been cut off by the
collapse of the C.C. field. A slow
jetting of blood from severed arter-
ies told Wythe that the man was
still alive. He pulled the limp body
free, wriggled with it across the nar-
row ledge that was left of the floor
plates, and pounded upon the bulk-
head door until Elston opened.

“Park is safe, sir. Glad you’re
back — one of the Rex’s is pretty
bad—’’

The electrician stopped. Othei's
crowded forward to stare tight-
lipped at Wythe’s burden.

“Benson, see what you can do
for him,” he ordered. “We’ll look at
the Rex, Elston.”

In the roar of one converter there
was an ominous xmdertone. Its
chrome beryl bearings were a dull
red. Smoke wreathed its whirling
armature, and the air stank of ov'er-
heated varnish.

“The other ain’t so bad,” Elston
explained, “but this one took most of
that potential warp load forward.”

Wythe considered. The shaft
would seize any moment; the sudden
stoppage might strip the armature
clean.

“We’ll shut this one down — at
once,” he decided. “Take a chance

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

leo

on the last one carrying us, now that
the shorted units are cut out. We’ll
let this one cool, then use both,
and the rest of our power, to pull
back to normal trim — ”

He had had to shout to make him-
self heard above the drone of the
machines, and now he saw the eyes
of every man upon him, felt the
sharp impact of fear-ridden thought.
To cut out one converter would leave
a shield extending scant inches from
the hull — thinner still between units
— and anywhere the possibility of a
squeeze.

They watched tensely as Elston
gripped the switch, and at a nod
from Wythe, pulled it. Instantly
the hum of the single converter still
running settled to a deep-toned roar.

From Elston, whose eyes turned
anxiously toward the overloaded
machine, came the dread cry:
“Squeeze portside!”

All saw it then — a food-wide patch
of darkness etching the hull plates
beside the last Rexdallian with the
stamp of disintegration. Silently
the little group watched it swell into
a bulging, dead-black semisphere,
creeping e\'er nearer the vital con-
verter.

“More power,” snapped Wythe.
“Get that Rex up to speed — quick.”

Deeper swelled the drone of the
overloaded machine as Elston
stepped up its output. With inward
relief Wythe saw that the effect was
what he had scarcely dared hope
for — the converter’s own eddy field
was holding the black semisphere
at bay, flattening its rounded inner
outline where the force fields clashed.

Benson broke the silence. “San-
ger’s lost a lot of blood, sir. Take
a transfusion to save him. He wants
to talk to you.”

Wythe knelt on the floor grids be-
side him. 'J'he first officer’s eyes

were clear, frank with the conviction
of death.

“Benson says you brought me in,”
he murmured. “Thanks — but I’ll go
this way — rather than court-martial.
How are things?”

“Tough,” Wythe told him. “Be-
ginning of a squeeze, but we aren’t
licked yet.”

“Sorry, captain — about every-
thing.”

“As much my fault as yours,”
said Wythe gruffly. “Shouldn’t have
let the W-6 thing get me dovrn.”

“That wasn’t it,” whispered San-
ger. “Only my chance ... to act
without making you suspicions. Not
your drinking . . . drugs. In your
bromo, in food. Just enough to
weaken you, knock you out. I didn't
want you cashiered though . . . didn’t
want Base to appoint a new cap-
tain.”

“I was drugged at the Golden
Rocket?”

“Yes. Ethyl alkaloid tablets.
IMade you feel and act drunk. So
I could take over. Sorry . . . good
luck.”

Sanger’s eyes closed. Benson, who
had been standing by, stoopcsl
quickly.

“He’s done, sir.”

Wythe nodded. A great weight
had lifted from his mind. He turned
back to the roaring converter, whicJi
was rapidly heating up. Its current
drain, registered on the ammeters,
was enormous. The battery indica-
tors stood at twenty percent charge,
but it seemed to him that he could
see the needles fall. A simple cal-
culation told him that ten minutes
more at the present drain would
drop the batteries below discharge
potential.

Ten minutes! And the second-
Rexdallian was still far from cool.

Twenty percent charge — scarcely
enough to bring two convertei's to

121

normal trim output — and that slen-
der reserve falling every moment.

To re-establish the second con-
verter’s field alone would take two
percent . T wo from twenty left -eigh-
teen.

The men were watching him, but
he knew he could not keep the truth
out of his eyes. It was hopeless;
they’d gambled with subspace and
lost.

He looked at the drawn, tense
faces of his men. There was calm,
without bitterness, in the few
glances that met his own. • Also —
and he thrilled at this — ^no hint of
blame for his part in catastrophe.

His thoughts churned rebelliously.
This couldn’t be the end; there must
be one more thing they could do.
But what, with just so much juice
in the batteries and no way to get
more.? If only they could start the
blast turbines —

Deep within him an incredible
hope expanded. The thing was im-
possible — but if it could be done
they’d live!

“Park, take three men and douse
that Rex cool,” he ordered. “Check
your blast turbines, Warren. Els-
ton, I want the generators directly
connected to the Rexdallians. We’re
using the turbines.”

Warren said slowly, reluctantly:
“Aren’t you forgetting the back pres-
sure, sir?”-

“I haven’t forgotten,” snapped
Wythe. “Get busy.”

It was eloquent of his new mas-
tery that they obeyed. He ordered
a collision mat broken *out and sta-
tioned two men beside the squeeze
with clamps and jacks.

“You’ll have to work fast,” he
told them. “When the other Rex
cut in, the overlap from other units
should kill the squeeze. Cover the
hole, but secure it against outside
pressure — ”

Three minutes later preparations

TIME MARCHES . . .

BACKWARD!

Time, and age too, goes into reverse — at th®
alarming rate of five years a morning!

It all started when an old man found directions
for discovering the Fountain of Youth. And
he found it, too. In fact, he soaked himself in
it. And it worked. But there was one little
unexpected twist that rather spoiled things
• . . something he should have foreseen . . .

Find out for yourself what it was, in one of
the grandest, whackiest yarns you've ever
read. It's THE FOUNTAIN, by Nelson Bond,
in June UNKNOWN— and it's something you
won't want to miss.

UNKNOWN

AT ALL NEWSSTANDS

122

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

wort' ooniplete. Amid a taut silence
men faced him.

“This is it,” he said quietly. “It’ll
be over — one way or other — in sixty
.seconds. We’ll cut in both convert-
ers, expanding our shield as if for
normal trim. We haven’t enough
juice to make it, but when Warren
•sees that squeeze disappear he’ll cut
in the turbines. Sure there’ll be
back pressure — but the turbines will
be feeding the Rexes, the shield will
be expanding, and we’ll bet that it
expands fast enough to take care of
the exhaust. If it doesn’t, we have
nothing to lose. Ready?”

“Reckon we’re all with you, cap-
tain,” <lrawled Park.

Wythe nodded. Elston flung up
the switches. The second converter
took 4hp its burden while ammeters
dipped to full drain indication. War-
ren stood by his ignitors, eyes riv-
eted upon the squeeze. Suddenly
a cheer went up. The sphere had
vanished; the mat was hurled over
the gaping hole it left, and a new
roar filled the engine room as War-
ren lit off the turbines.

This, Wythe knew, was the cru-
cial interval, before the turbines
came up to speed and actually de-
livered current to the laboring Re.x-
dallians. Would the outside exhaust
pressure build up against the static
membrane meanwhile enough to stall
the turbines or crush inward the
walls of the engine room?

Somebody coughed as blue ex-
haust fumes puffed in past the col-

lision mat. The whine of the tur-
bines sank from its normal high
pitch as back pressure battled the
exploding fuel. Anxiously Wythe
watched the plates for signs of bulg-
ing.

Abruptly the mighty roar of the
Rexdallians broke, thinned to a low
hum as they ran free. The drone
of the turbines rose suddenly to a
scream.

Tense faces broke into grins.
Elston cut out the converters.
“We’re through, sir — normal!” '

A gigantic voice that seemed to
rattle off the very hull plates inter-
rupted him.

"W-12! What the devil d'you
mean by going normal practically
under our keel? Answer up, W-i2.”

That would be Bronson of the
TT-4, talking over a sound beam,
Wythe knew.

“Wythe speaking. Can you hear
me?”

“Certainly. Want a tow back to
Base?”

“Guess we do. We’re slightly
damaged.”

A metallic snort rattled the ship.
“Slightly damaged? You’re prac-
tically annihilated!”

Wythe looked around at his men.
His men! This was not the crew he
had left port with. He met their
eyes squarely.

“Not quite!” he answered Bron-
son. “But you should have seen the
other fellow — ”

THE END.

les

eiifissms

On thr next two pages, in semigraphical form, is the “HeinUin History” — Robert Heinlein’s
background suggestion of the history of the near future. Against this background, all the Heinlein
science-fiction stories are laid. Heinlein’s fantasies — “The Devil Makes The Law” and “They ” —
which appeared in Unknown, are not, of course, based on this background.

Reference to the Editor’s Pages will help clarify some of the material. In addition, those
story titles in parentheses represent material already planned either vaguely, or in detail, but not
yet written, the stories still to be told. The stories already told have appeared in the following
issues of Astounding. A brief explanation of what each story was, to jog your memory, is added.

Story

Issue

Subject

Life-Line

Aug., 1939

“Pinero" invented a length-of-life predicting machine.

“ — And He Built A
Crooked House”

Feb., 1941

Quintus Teal built a fourth-dimensional house.

The Roads Must Roll! June, 1940

Strike of technicians maintaining the vital rolling roadways.

Blotvups Happen

Sept., 1940

Danger — and madness — of operators of the first atomic
power plants.

Requiem

Jan., 1940

D. D. Harriman, pioneer backer of interplanetary rockets,
dies on the Moon.

Logic of Empire

Mar., 1941

Sam Houston Jones and Wingate get drunk — and enslaved
on V enus.

If This Goes On—

Feh.,-Mar„ 1940

The revolution that ends the religious dictatorship in U. S.

Coventry

July, 1940

Tale of the country where social misfits were exiled follow-
ing the revolution.

Misfit

Nov., 1939

Libby, the mathematical prodigy, misfit in civilian life,
makes good in the Cosmic Construction Corps.

Universe

May, 1941

See Page 9, this issue.

As this is written, Heinlein tells me he is working on "^hile The Evil Days Come Not.” The
title may never appear — as may be true of sdveral of the other stories listed as “to be told.” Some-
times in process of writing, a title that fits bftter becomes apparent. “IPhile The EvU Days Come
Nbt” is a case where that is probably going to happen; the working title is too img and clumsy
to be fully effective.

So, if you never see a Heinlein story called “The Sound of His Wings” that won’t prove you
haven’t seen the story referred to.

The Editor,

194

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

DATES STORIES

till ill

CHARACTERS

TECHNICAL

A.D. ( )- Storits-io-be-lold
J940 Life-Line

— And He Built a
Crooked House

1950 Let Tlierc Be Light

I9fi0_

(Word Edgewise)

1970 Tlie Roads Must Roll!
Blow-Ups Happen

1980.

1990 Requiem

(Fire Down Below I)

2000.

2010 Logic of Empire

(The Sound of His
Wings)

2020 (Eclipse).

2030

2040

2050

2060

2070 If This Goes On

2080

2090 Coventry
2100

2110

2120

2130

214 «

Misfit

Universe, prologue only..

(While The Evil Days
Come Not)

s ^

■S I

u p

2 u

Pi .

■ E

(9
C
>»

■S'*
S' ^
Si m

*i I Oi

Sit)

0.1 g
s' «

Cl."

ili

.Bis

i-S

I «

■'5i

*ii

.£i

Static submoUr engineering (pariitatics)

BRASS TACKS

135

DATA

SOCIOLOGICAL

REMARKS

'Transatlantic rocket
flight

Antipodes rocket
service

Collapse

Europe

Strike of ’60.

THE

— “CRAZV
YEARS"

Bacteriophage
' The Travel Unit and
the Fighting Unit

Commercial

stereoptics

The “FALSE DAWN,” 1960-70
First rocket to Moon, 1978

Space Precautionary Act

. Harriman's Lunar Corporations

Luna City founded
PERIOD OF IMPERIAL EX-
PLOITATION, 1970-2020
Revolution in Little America
Interplanetary exploration and ex-
ploitation

American-Australasian anschluss

Rise of religious fanaticism
The “New Crusade"
Rebellion - and independence
Venusian colonists

for

Religions dictatorship in U. S.

— Booster guns -

Synthetic foods

Weather control .
Wave mechanics

The “Barrier”

THE FIRST HUMAN CIVILI-
ZATION, 2075 et seq.

Atomic “tailoring,"
Elements 93-416
Parastatic engineer-
ing

Rigor of colloids
Symbiotic research
Longevity

Considerable technical advance
during this period, accompanied
by a gradual deterioration pf mo-
res, orientation, and social insti-
tutions, terminating in mass psy-
choses in the sixth decade, and the
Interregnum.

The Interregnum was followed by
a period of reconstruction in which
the Voorhis financial proposals
gave a temporary economic stabil-
ity and chance for re-orientation.
This was ended by the opening of
new frontiers and a return to
nineteenth-century economy.

Three revolutions ended the short
period of interplanetary imperial-
ism; Antarctica, U. S., and Venus.
Space travel ceased until 2072.

Little research and only minor
technical advances during this pe-
riod. Extreme Puritanism. Cer-
tain aspects of psychodynamics
and psychometrics, mass psychol-
ogy and social control developed
by the priest class.

Re-establishment of civil liberty.
Renascence of scientific research.
Resumption of space travel. Luna
City refounded. Science of social
relations, based on the negative
basic statements of semantics.
Rigor of Epistemology. The Cov-
enant.

Beginning of the consolidation of
the Solar System.

First attempt at interstellar ex-
ploration.

Civil disorder, followed by tho
end of human adolescence and be-
ginning of first mature culture.

136

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

The man has something there. Not

straight Graeco — Roman, but on that

order maybe —

Dear Si rs:

Ain writing in as one of those “first-letter-
to-the-edilors” boys. I just wanted to tell
you that I rather liked Bond’s “Magic
City.” For me the theme has great pos-
sibilitie.s.

But for the life of me I ean’t see why
our soeial-seienee fictioners like Bond and
Heinlein so often throw the world back to
primitivism. Can’t they imagine a non-
machine culture without talking in terms
of the hairy apes.-* What about Egypt,
Syria, the Hellenic World, Crete and China?
Couldn’t a civilization emerge along the
cultural lines of one of the.se? Why must
we always have Rous.seau’s Noble Savage,
with his biceps, his stone ax and his mate
crawling around the ruins of mighty Nyawk
or Oiikgo? .\fter all, don’t you think a
jx).st Euro-.\merican -Age would at least
start in on the level of say, Rome?

That is all I can pick off the bones of
“Magic City.” I would welcome contro-
versy on above criticism. Anyway, I’m
genuinely glad to .see .Astounding going in
for 80 cial-.science fiction. It’s typical of the
trend awa.y from pure astronomy, physics
and chemistry. For me a science of human
behavior is the mo.st fa.scinating kind of
science.

Pat on the back for de Camp. His series
on the “Whitherers” was super-swell. I’m
really glarl to .see some one popularizing
Toynbee’s "Study.” Have been following
“Study” for a year now. I would really
like to .sec that graph that Heinlein has of
"Future History.” I’m making mine and
would like .some help. — Richard Rafael,
30 Taraval Street, San Francisco, Cali-
fornia.

"Crooked House" seems to have been

popular.

Dear Mr. Campbell:

1 have noticed that I always have trou-
ble getting to sleep after the arrival of the
current A.stounding. I think this is be-
cause of the previous "four or five hours
spent in a furious cover-to-cover reading of
said issue, after which I start mentally
writing a ten-thou.sand-word edition of this
letter. The best of the many beginnings
thus mulled anil remulled is in regard to
‘Trouble on Tantalus.” I’m afraid the boys
have finally done it; made ,so many pointed

remarks about your authors slanting their
stories for you that you either crackcil un-
der the strain or else decided to I’arn ’em
for good. To put it more bluntly, it was
the juciest mess of lurid scrapings from a
hundred hack plots ever to appeaV since
tho.se medieval Claytons. The only ray of
gladness gleaned from it was the hope of a
fitting rejoinder from Carl Anderson as
good as his current Brass Tacks. .At lea.st
the illustration was no better than it de-
served.

So, after some last tossing and muttering,
I gravitate back to the cover and feel much
better. So far Rogers has Icavenetl his
pictorial dough perfectly with such pleas-
ing relapses from stark steel and leering
Icnsmen. And so to “Magic City.” Were
it not for my personal limitations, I would
have greatly enjoyed this story. However,
when characters abuse my love of logic to
such ail extent, only their nonexistence
saves them from a beating about the head
and ears. This is almost the only story for
which M. Isip has been suited. .At least
he can draw a pretty face, which is a be-
ginning. Rate this a thousand miles above
“T on T,” but still below the rest of the
issue.

Remember my theory? Well, anyhow,
“Castaway” is another of those stories that
would have been one of the very first in a
perfectly regulated society. It ilepicts one
of the smallest facets of the picture with
the drama it deserves, and thus implies
even “The Skylark.” I suppose if Schnee-
man had illustrated it he would have pro-
duced a three-quarter rear view of Parker
watching a similar Bobo fiddle with a mag-
nificent batch of radio apparatus. Cartier
would have produced one of his usual whim-
sical masterpieces — no, I haven’t forgotten
“Vault of the Beast.” However, if baby
c,pn’t have candy all the time, I can take
Binder’s version.

Well, I’m still awake, and just getting
around to “ — And He Built a Crookeil
House.” Because of the same per.sonal limi-
tatiems which hindered my enjoyment of
Bond’s story, my reaction to this is a mani-
acal gurgle of glee. Possibly it’s just a con-
ditioned reflex caused by Schneeman’s pint-
sized cuts for "The Mechanical Mice” and
a Rocklynne-engendered love of a prob-
lem, solved or not.

Getting a little drowsy, by now. I
mean me. Sturgeon’s tale just about split
the middle on .Astounding’s good average
on how to unmess the messed spacecan.
Same feelings on Binder as before.

BRASS TACKS

1«7

Th«* article just about puts me to sleep,
but only l)ecause it was a very good ar-
ticle, and I actually remember most of its
weighty tacts.

1 wish I could use that scented movie
i<lea in a scented letter, so that when you
come to the remarks on “The Best-laid
Scheme,” a beautiful aroma of something
beautifully aromatic would pervade the
atmosphere for a moment. As for Cartier, I
still say masterpiece. As for de Camp, it
was a totally unnecessary little tale which
we had no right to de.serve and for which I
humbly give thanks. Tie it with Hein-
lein’s.

I’ll skip “Sixth Column” until its com-
pletion because this letter is already 4oo
long, and if I remember rightly, I became
very, very sleepy at about this point.—
Dick Wortraan, 842 East 97th Street, Seat-
tle, Washington.

Rogers’ covers are receiving a. very un-
usual amount of praise.

Dear Mr. Campbell;

The fact that stories about revolutions
have been overdone of late in Astounding
would have made “Sixth Column” just an-
other excellent yarti, had it not been for
MacDonald’s swell plot and treatment
thereof. Thus I reverently place “S. C.” in
the No. 3 nielje of Astounding’s Hall of
I’anie, side by side with “If This Goes On.”
In case you're interested. No. 2 niche is oc-
cupied by “Final Blackout” and “The Gray
liCnsman,” No. 1 by “Sian.”

As for the other stories in the March b-
sue — regarding “S. C.” as a separate entity
— I rate them as follows:

1. “Logic of Empire” — Heinlein

2. “Poker Face”-^turgeon

3. “Masquerade” — Simak

4. “Blockade Runner” — Jameson

5. “Eccentric Orbit” — Thompson

6. “Putsch” — Philips and Roberts

Hope another Smith epic is coming up
— perhaps about the Arisiaus?

Only by keeping my emotions under rigid
ten-iwint steel control, can I accurately de-
scribe the cover as “a masterpiece.” Other-
wise I would go on raving for re.ams.
Though each cover is better than the last,
the improvement is smaller as perfection is
neared — thus resembling a scries. As for
the interior illustrations — ^still the weakest
point — M. Isip has done the b^t on
“Putsch.” Since you’re experimenting with

different artists in an attempt to improve,
why not trj' Finlay?

I, too, thought “General Swamp” was
good. — Bill Stoy, 140-92 Burden Crescent,
Jamaica, New York.

Jack London; Prophet.

Dear Mr. Campbell:

In the March Astounding we have a
number of noteworthy happenings: 1. An-

other Heinlein taking first place; but that’s
not so darn remarkable. 2. “Sixth Column”
winding up very satisfactorily and only tak-
ing third, in my ratings anyhow. 3. As-
tounding’s generally high standards actu-
ally kept up all through one whole issue.
To elucidate, here are my ratings:

1. “Logic of Empire”

2. “Poker Face”

3. “Sixth Column”

4. “Space Has a Spectrum”

5. “Putsch”

6. “Blockade Runner”

7. “Masquerade”

8. “Eccentric Orbit”

The above represents half an hour’s
work; that’s how close all of them were.
“Putsch,” I put fifth, yet I’d say it was
quite a bit better than “Salvage.” Right
away down to No. 8 every yarn was good.

Taking a long jump over to the Brass
Tacks column: I wish you’d answer the let-
ters. In the case of my own, which thank.s
for printing, the little note at the top was
quite obvious and adequate; but .some of
the others seemed to invite answers. So,
right now. I’m saying what I have to say
on a couple of them.

Charles Johnson wrote a review of the
year which was too long not to contain
material for discussion. Very entertaining
it was, but I fail to comprehend any guy
not liking “Farewell to the Master;” “Uc-
incarnate,” and “Butyl and the Breather.”
The objection cannot be lack of science, for
later in the letter he cautions you to “re-
member the name is Astounding Science-
Fiction.” Personally, I think you should
let really good stories in the magazine,
science or no science; but a little good,
plausible science in any story improves it
a great deal, and that’s not excluding the
social sciences and psychology.

Which reminds me, that fellow who wrote
from England said, among other things,
that “Final Blackout” was not science-fic-

]S8

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

tion, but a “historical story of a military
{jenius, set in the near future instead of the
past.” Science-fiction always used to be re-
motely related to prediction. The predic-
tion in “Final Blackout” is not original, in
fact is quite commonly used and is not in
the natural sciences, but is still enough to
bring the story under the s-f heading.

In your editorials you gloat, and rightly,
over the various scientific advances sci-
ence-fiction has foreseen. What would you
say to a writer who in 1906 predicted the
rise of Fascism? I’ll tell you: you wouldn’t
say anything, because he’s dead, and his
name was Jack London. Jack London was
a .socialist, and he overestimated the
strength of the socialist party; that was his
one big mistake in this prediction. He said
America would declare war on Germany in
19W. Pretty close, eh? But he thought
the .socialists would by then be powerful
enough to prevent war, and this threw him
«iff, so that he had Fascism rising in the
U. S. and Britain instead of Italy and Ger-
many. However, he called the turn on
Jap.an.

Listen to this quotation: “The oligarchs”

■ — his name for the Nazis — “themselves were
going through a remarkable development.
As a class, they disciplined them.selves.
There were no more idle-rich young men.

"Many have ascribed the strength of the
Iron Heel” — Nazis — “to its system of re-
ward and punishment. This is a mistake.

"Out of the ethical incoherency and in-
consistency of capitalism, the oligarchs
emerged with a new ethics, coherent and
<!efinite, .sharp and severe as steel, the most
absurd and unscientific and at the same
time the most potent ever possessed by any
tyrant class. The oligarchs believed their
ethics, in .spite of the fact that biology and
evolution gave them the He.”

All this from “The Iron Heel,” by Jack
l»n<lon, written in 1906, copyrighted in
1907, which you can get at any large pub-
lic library or Communist bookshop. My
point is this: isn’t that kind of stuff, in-
telligent prediction of future events based
on facts at hand, more science-fiction than
Sup<‘rmen in bulgar suits galloping around
on alien planets? Not that good stories
can’t be written in impossible settings, but
it's these screwy ray guns, degravitizers,
repulsor fields, ct cetera, that make some
of iny friends smile their “let’s-humor-him”
smile when 1 tell them I read science-fiction.
No bull, even the fair name of Astounding
is being dragged to the dust by these comic-
strip kind of .stories, 'fo get back to the

topic on hand, I am requesting more pos-
sible, logical stories of the near future, and
less crazy opium dreams. Fantasies are
frequently good, but they are frequently
putrid, and I would like to caution you
to remember the name of the magazine
is Astounding Scie/ice-Fictiou. — Chandler
Davis, 309 Lake Avenue, Newton High-
lands, Mass.

I disagree; any subject can make a pov/-
erful story. It’s just that it takes im-
mensely more ability to handle some
types than others.

Dear Mr. Campbell:

Writing a letter is a matter of extreme
difficulty for me, and while I usually com-
promise by not writing at all, I have been
forced by an uneasy conscience to tell you
that you are publishing, I think, some
things that are good.

For some time I have read and kept each
issue, always hoping for the real story to
come along. Until recently, and with one
exception, I was disappointed. There were
many stories that were amusing or enter-
taining; only one, “Robot’s Return,” Inid
that haunting beauty that is unforgettably
good.

But that was in another “era.” Febru-
ary, 1940, began the new' era with the
powerful logic of “If This Goes On,” fol-
lowed quickly by the too real “Final Black-
out,” and the masterful “Sian.” The.<e
.stories were a great change from those that
had gone before; they were a different kind
of story — but I was not surprised to see
them in print. These were of the kind of
.story bound to appear, for any author not
living in the ivory tower can see the menac-
ing shadows across the w’orld of today, and
not a few will strive to see beyond.

These stories, I am certain, are but the
first of many sociological prophecies — by
the way better stories, because the authois
will be working in a medium which will
make real writing possible. Let me ex-
plain more precisely. To be truly power-
ful, a story must have a one-track mind;
all must be subordinate to the central idea.
Under these conditions, a story base<l upon
a scientific theory “Men and the Mirror”
or “Cold” cannot be strong with the in-
tensity of good writing, for it is inherently
faulty by the dividing of interest between
the scientific phenomenon, the events whieli
lead to the phenomenon, and the charac-
ters in the story.

BRASS TACKS

129

There is another kind of story whicli
may be good, and yet not be suitable to
science-fiction, a character study in a fu-
ture setting “Crucible of Power,” or an ad-
venture story in a future setting “Doom
Ship”; ill either case the future setting is
not necessary or an integral part of the
story, for the one, excellent for character
as it is, with changes of detail could have
fitted equally well in present or past time,
while the other story might just as easily
have been “Set on an ocean liner, and any-
how it’s — ^“Doom Ship” — the same old
story of the heartless crook collecting the
insurance.

Too, there is the scientific melodrama,
“Gray Lensman,” which is usually inter-
esting, refreshing, which makes good read-
ing and is yet not good writing, for, as in
any melodrama, realism is lacking. “Gray
Lensman” is an epic, it is colossal. No one
will deny the very intense enjoyment de-
rived from that story, but did anyone feel
the story, seem to live it? I doubt. It
was a glorious adventure set against titanic
forces, but it was utterly unreal, it was
just too big.

There are other examples I will not take
space to mention; they are easily found.
There are other forms, such as de Camp’s
brilliant articles, which are excellent in
themselves, but are of no consequence in
the matter of a good, serious story suitable
to science-fiction.

Finally, we come to a kind of story that
allows good writing. The first inkling we
got Was from Asimov’s “Trends,” but that
story was too short to make a splash, and
we had to be hit again over the head with
“If This Goes On,” to become aware that
the sociological story was going to make a
place for itself; the seat was there, it just
hadn't been occupied fqr some years. Here
is why the sociological story allows of good
writing: There is a continuity of story

from start to finish, for in dealing with the
idea of a social force we follow a chain
of events that _ permits no deviation, start-
ing with symptoms and caujes, and work-
ing out with the help of the characters
their machines the events to the'logical con-
clusions. It is much like^ a chronicjing of
future history, and we know that any bit of
history is fascinating in itself. This kind
of story has an inherent reality about it.
dealing as in any great story with men and
events, and tools which affect both.

And I suspect, too, that in addition to
these advantages pointed out, the author’s
writing will improve with the widening of

his field and the challenge of a powerful
story.

“If This Goes On” is not great writing,
but it was a first bold step.

“Sian” is free and powerful, and has mo-
ments of writing which are very beauti-
ful. It barely falls short.

“Final Blackout.” The terse grimness,
the realness of its characters, aiul its inevi-
table logic, fit this to stand alone. It is a
story. I mean that it could be read and
appreciated, and judged by literary stand-
ards. by anybody. Those who criticize the
political implications of “Final Blackout”
should remember that an author does not
always put down wdiat he vxmted to Iiap-
pen, but what, in the story, had to hapi)en.
Life itself is not a happy condition, except
in moments all the more beautiful for
their rarity, and the continual happy end-
ing becomes insipid through its very un-
reality.

I make “Final Blackout” an example l>e-
cause it is a taste of the great writing,
that, in this limitless field of science-fiction
and fantasy, is bound to come. — Stilson
Wray.

Year-round
Reading Neasure

% You enjoyed the stories in this me 9 e-
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enjoying them~>throughout the year?

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CITY

130

By L. Sprayue de Camp

The second and eoneindipg part of a
navel of a wacky, feuding future world.

~ lOustrated by Roflcrs

•

Youiuj Horace Juniper-IIallett has a lot pire is a •Corporate State — motto, “All that

on his mind.’ It all started mth a riot at is not compulsory is forbidden” — which

the Radio Expomtion in\Los Angeles, the started out as a dictatorship and has

capital of the American Empire. This Em- ■ evolved into a quasi-feudal state wherein

THE STOLEN DORMOUSE

131

the dictators are powerless puppets, and
control ii exercised by a corrupt and tur-
bulent aristocracy derived from the execu-
tives and directors of the great private cor-
porations.

.\s a result of this riot. Horace was pro-
moted by the head of his clan. Lord .Arch-
win Taylor-Thing, chairman of the board
of the Crosley Co., from the rank of white-
collar to that of businessman — the equiva-
lent of knighthood.

Horace's mortal enemy is Justin Lane-
Walsh. heir to the vice -presidency of the
rival Stromberg Co. After the riot, the Los
Angeles police chief forced the chairmen of
the rii'al companies to agree to degrade and
expel any members of their respective com-
panies who engage in duels during the ex-
position. Horace Juniper-Hallett contrived
to steal his enemy’s clothes — nith the dis-
tinctive Stromberg colors — and crash the
Stromberg ball. Here he met and fell in
love with Jtt7iet Bickham-Coates , the
daughter of the lord chairman of the rii'al
company. One thing led to another, and
within a few days Horace and Janet were
secretly married by Miles Carey-West, an
old geneticist.

Janet returned to the Stromberg Build-
ing, a skyscraper-fortress in IjOs Angeles,
to break the Aieios to her parents. Horace
Juniper-Hallett was attacked in the street
by Lane-Walsh, furious at the theft of his
clothes. In the resulting duel, Juniper-Hal-
lett fractured Lane-Walsh’ s skull with his
dueling stick. The chairman of Crosley, as
he had stcorn to do. degraded and exiled
Juniper-Hallett. But Lord Archwin secretly
informed him. that he might reinstate him
if Juniper-Hallett uncovered the mystery of
the stolen dormouse.

A dormouse is a person under the influ-
ence. of the drug hibemine. which causes
its user to pass into a coma which lasts for
so7)ie hundreds of years. The bodies of
those who became dormice before use of the
drug teas forbidden are kept in a pseudo-
mausoleum called the “Sleepers’ Crypt’’ in
Griffith Park, and comprise cme of the capi-
tal’s main tourist attractions. One of these
sleepers has disappeared. Each of the great
companies suspects the others. Some sus-
pect the mysterious Hawaiians, because the
ilormou.w, .Arnold Ryan, was part Ha-
waiian. Little is Icnoitm of the Hawaiians.
except that they lead an immorally lazy
existence in islands protected by impene-
trable fortifications.

Horace Juniper-Hallett gains entrance to
the Stromberg Building and to his bride’s

AST— 9

room. Because Janet’s mother comes in.
Jjiniper-Hallett is forced to spend an un-
comfortable night under the bed with Do-
lores. Janet’s pet puma. Dolores gives
Horace hay fever. The following morning,
after Lady Bickham-Smith leaves, Juniper-
Hallett enters the air-conditioning system
and travels down to the biology room, in
the basement. He discovers that the body
of Arnold Ryan was in the room — the
Strombergs had stolen it from the crypt
— but that it has disappeared a second
time, causing much excitement and dis-
may among the Stromberg engineers.
These see Juniper-Hallett lurking in the air
duct and pursue him. He knocks out the
leading pursuer, one Duke-Holmquist, re-
turns to Janet’s room. and. exhausted by
his climb up the air shaft, falls asleep at
once.

Juniper-Hai.lett awoke after
dark. He felt almost human again,
and very hungry. The cause of his
awakening was the click of the door
as Janet returned to her room after
dinner.

“Here, sweetheart,” she said, pro-
ducing a couple of hard rolls.

“Wonderful woman!” he replied,
sinking his teeth.

She said: “Mother’s going to

spend the night here again. It’s her
nightmares.”

“Then I’ll have to get out some-
how. Right away.”

“Oh, must you, Horace.?”

“Yep. I don’t fancy another
night with Dolores.”

The puma, hearing her name,
came over to Juniper-Hallett and
rubbed her head against his knee.
“She likes you,” said Janet.

“That may be. But she gives me
hay fever, and she has too much
claws and teeth for my idea of a pet.
How’ll I get out, old girl.?”

Janet got a raincoat, a hat, and
a pair of shoes out of a closet. “If
you put these on — ”

“What? Good Service, no! If
it ever got out that I’d been doing a

13 *

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

female impersonation, I’d never live
it down. The mere idea gives me the
horrors.”

“But that’s the only thing I can
think of — ”

“Me run around in a girl’s
clothes? Yeeow!” He closed his
eyes and shuddered. “If they caught
me in what I’m wearing, the worst
they could do would be to beat me
to death. But that — hr-r-r-r! No,
a thousand times no!”

Half an hour later he had his pants
legs rolled up under the raincoat,
and was putting on the hat. His
expression was that of a man about
to have a boil lanced by a drunken
friend with a rusty jackknife.

He stood up. Dolores rubbed
against his legs; then suddenly
reared up, embraced him with her
mj^ular forelegs, and threw him.
Sne sat down on him and licked his
chin. She had a tongue like sand-
paper of the coarsest grade.

“Hey!” said Juniper-Hallett.

“She wants you to stay and play
with her,” said Janet. “She loves to
wrestle.”

“But I don’t,” said Juniper-
Hallett.

Dolores was persuaded to let
Juniper-Hallett up, and was sent out
for a walk with Janet’s maid while
Juniper-Hallett hid.

When Horace Juniper-Hallett got
home late that night, he took off the
hat and the shoes and flung them on
the floor witji a violence all out of
proportion to the crime, if any, of
these inoffensive garments.

Juniper-Hallett’s next obvious
step was to report to Lord Archwin
of Crosley that he had arrived at
the Stromberg laboratories just as
the Strombergs learned that some-
body else had made off with the
precious dormouse.

He didn’t relish the prospect.

Lord Archwin might have regretted
already sending an untrained young
sprig out to gumshoe and be glad of
an excuse to call the deal off and put
a professional Sherlock on the job.
So Juniper-Hallett was relieved next
morning when he learned at the
Crosley building that Archwin Tay-
lor-Thing was down at the Exposi-
tion, which was closing that day.

Juniper-Hallett was starting out
of the receptionist’s vestibule when
he noticed a man sitting with a
brief case — not a businessman’s
fancy leather one, but a plain rub-
beroid bag — in his lap. The man
had a large quantity of curly black
hair, tinted .spectacles, and beard.
Juniper-Hallett did not know any
men with beards, but still this one
did not look unfamiliar to him.

“Waiting to see the Old Man,
sir?” he asked pleasantly.

“Da. Yes.”

“He won’t be back until late this
afternoon, sir.”

“Saw? That is too bad. But I
shall wait for him anyway.”

“I’m going down to see him now.
Can I take a message?”

"Da. Tell him that Professor
Ivan Ivanovitch Chelyushkin waits
to see him. He has wery important
inwention to shaw him.”

“How long have you worn those
whiskers?” asked Juniper-Hallett.

“Years and years. Gaw, young
man, and geev your master my mes-
sage!” The professor rose and
pointed imperiously to the door.

“I think,” said Juniper-Hallett in
a low voice, “that you’re the lousi-
est actor I ever saw, Justin old slug.”
The eyes behind the tinted glasses
took on an alarmed, hunted look.
“You damn dirty Crosley,” whis-
pered the bearded man fiercely. “If
you say a word. I’ll break your neck
before they can — ”

Juniper-Hallett laughed at him.

THE STOLEN DORMOUSE

133

“Now, now, I don’t want Your Loy-
alty beaten to a jelly. That’s what
they’d do; beat you to a jelly.” He
repeated the word “jelly” with rel-
ish. “I’m not technically a Crosley
any more, you know.”

“That’s right, so you aren’t. And
I’m nobod}'’s Loyaltj'. But — ”

“Let us gaw outside, my frand,
where we can talk wizzout wulgar
interruptions,” said Juniper-Hallett.

Justin Lane-Walsh explained,
crestfallen: “After I got out of the
hospital, they degraded and ex-
pelled me, just as they said they
would. But. our Old Man told me
not to go off the deep end, because
he might have some confidential
work for me.

“So last night I get a call from
him, and he tells me somebody’s got
our dormouse, the one we expropri-
ated from the Crypt. You know'
all about that, don’t you? So the
Old Man says, you find where the
dormouse has gone, and we’ll see
al>out giving you your rank back.”
“Same thing happened to me, ex-
actly,” said Juniper-Hallett. He ex-
plained w'hy he was sure the Cros-
iers had not stolen the dormouse.
Lane- Walsh scratched his head, get-
ting black hair dye on his fingertips,
but he could not see a hole in Juni-
per-Hallett’s reasoning.

Juniper-Hallett went on: “Mat-
ter of fact I had an idea, when I saw
you, that we’d do better together
than working against one another.
^Vhy not? We’re both outcasts.”
“Well,” said Lane-Walsh hesi-
tantly, “suppose we find the dor-
mouse; which of us — or which of our
two companies — ^gets him?”

“We could fight it out,” said Juni-
per-Hallett. He was sure he could
handle Lane-Walsh, despite the lat-
ter’s size.

“Can’t. The doc told me I
couldn’t fight any more duels for a
year, on account of what you did to
my skull last time. Are there any
other honorable methods?”

“We’ll have to flip a coin or some-
thing.” Juniper-Hallett dismissed
the disposal of the dormouse with an
airy wave. Lane-Walsh, still doubt-
ful,. gave in.

Juniper-Hallett said: “I don’t

guess there’s much point in prowl-
ing around our own companies’
buildings any more. What we want
is a lead to the Hawaiians or the
Ayesmies.”

“Do you know any Hawaiians?”
“No. Do you?” asked Juniper-
Hallett.

“I’ve never even seen one. I un-
derstand they have brown skins and
flat faces, sort of like Mongolians.”
“Well, if we don’t know any Ha-
waiians, how are we going to find
their secret headquarters? If they’ve
got a secret headquarters.”
Lane-W'alsh shrugged. “I sup-
pose we’ll have to go after the Ayes-
mies then. But I don’t know any
Ayesmies, either,”

We both know some engineers,
though. And any engineer might be
an Ayesmy,”

Lane-Walsh opened his eyes as if
this was a great revelation. “That’s
so! There’s one engineer around
our building I don’t like. He ought
to be an Ayesmy.”

So EVENING found the amateur
Sherlocks lurking in the shrubbery
— literally — in front of the Strom-
berg building.

“That’s him,” said Justin Lane-
Walsh. A portly man had just come
out of the front entrance. “He walks
home every night at this time.”
They rose and followed the en-
gineer Lane-Walsh didn’t like.

1S4

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

They followed him to the restau-
rant where he ate his dinner. Lane-
Walsb whispered to Juniper-Hallett:
“That’s one of the things that made
me suspect him. What’s his idea of
sneaking off to eat by himself.? Tliey
serve good grub in the Engineers’
Mess in our building.”
Juniper-Hallett replied: “Let’s or-
der something; but not too much.
W’e don’t want to be in the middle of
our meal when he finishes.”

Juniper-Hallett had a tuna-fish
.sandwich and a glass of wine. Lane-
Walsh had a glass of milk. The
milk got in his beard, which was held
on with a water-soluble adhesive.
He had to hold the object in place
with one hand. He muttered:
“What’s this about your getting mar-
ried to the Old Man’s daughter?”
Juniper-Hallett told him.

“I’ll be damned,” said Lane-
W’al.sh. “That’s another reason for
knocking your head off, when we
have our duel after I get well.
Janet’s a good kid, though. If I
were sap enough to marry anybody,
she’d do very nicely. Reminds me of
a Spani.sh girl I met at a party last
week. She was shaped like this and
like this.” He gestured. “And
when I woke up — ”

Just then the stout engineer whom
Lane-W’alsh didn’t like got up. His
pursuers got up, too, and followed
him out.

As they mounted the stairs to the
sidewalk, the engineer was there
waiting for them. He came right to
the point. “What the devil are you
two following me for?”

“We aren’t,” said Juniper-Hallett.
“We were just waiting for an air-
plane, .sir,” said Lane-Walsh.

“Bunk!” roared the engineer Lane-
Walsh didn’t like. “Get out of here.
Right now. O’- I’ll call a cop!”

They went.

VI.

Sleeper’s Crypt, colloquially
known as Dormouse Crypt, occu-
pied the southern corner of Griffith
Park, at Western and Los Feliz.
From this elevation the Crypt com-
manded a fine view of the capital
city, which its permanent residents
were in no condition to appreciate.
The Crypt itself was a big mauso-
leumlike building, streamlined.
“Streamlined,” in the language of
the time, meant, not shaped so as to
pass through a fluid with the least
resistance, but covered with useless
ornamentation. The word got this
meaning as a result of fts misuse by
twentieth-century manufacturers,
who took to calling boilers, refrigera-
tors, and other normally stationary
objects “streamlined” when they
merely meant that they had dressed
their products up in sheet-metal
housings and bright paint. Hence
“streamlined” came to mean dressed
up or ornamented, with no reference
to aerodynamics..

At the entrance to the Crypt was
a cluster of watchmen. At sixteen
o’clock, the line of sightseers enter-
ing the Crypt contained Justin
Lane-Walsh and Horace Juniper-
Hallett, conspicuous in their sober
proletarian off-hour costume among
the gaudy colors of the great com-
panies.

As they entered, Lane-Walsh re-
marked: “Tliey’ve got about twice
as many watchmen as usual here
today.”

“I guess they’re not taking any
more chances of having another dor-
mouse .stolen,” said Juniper-Hallett.
Just then they passed through a
turnstile; one of a pair, one for in-
comers and the other for outgoers.

Like all visitors to the Crypt,
they lowered their voices. It was
that kind of place. There was hall

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135 ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

The coffin slid aside, and a moment later
he started down the stairs revealed.

after hall, each with its rows of glass- plate with the sleeper’s name and
topped caskets. In each casket was other pertinent information, ineliid-
a sleeper. There was a little light ing the estimated date of his awak-
above the head of the sleeper, which ening.

a visitor could flash on by a button Lane-Walsh switched on one of
if he wished to e.\amine the sleeper’s these lights. The sleeper was a girl,
face. At the foot of the casket was a ~ “Some babe,” said Lane-Walsh.

THE STOLEN DORMOUSE

13T

“If she was ready to wake up,
now — ”

“Wouldn’t do you much good,”
said Juniper-Hallett, reading the
plate. “She isn’t due to wake for
fifty years. And you won’t be up
to much then.”

“ ’Sail right. I’ll be up to more at
se\’enty-five than you are right now,
shrimp. Say, I always wondered if
they called ’em dormice because the
top of the coffin comes up like a door
when they wake up and pull the
switch.”

“Nope. Matter of fact they’re
named after some kind of mouse they
have in Europe. It goes into a very
deep sleep when it hibernates. Oh-
oh, here’s a new one. I didn’t know
they were still taking them in.”

“Sure,” said Lane-Walsh with
much worldly wisdom. “You can
get hibernine easy if you got the
right connections.”

Another of Juniper-Hallett’s
youthful illusions popped. He con-
cealed his feeling of shock, and led
the way to the hall that had con-
tained the torpid bodj’’ of Arnold
Ryan. There was quite a crowd
around the empty Ryan casket.
When Juniper-Hallett and Lane-
Walsh wormed their way in close,
they bent over and examined the ob-
ject eagerly. This was what they
had come for: having run out of all
other ideas, they thought there
might possibly be a clue in or around
the Ryan casket.

But the casket was exactly the
same as all the others in the Crypt,
except that the padding and the elec-
trical connections had been removed
from the interior. There remained
nothing but a big plastic box, with-
out even a scratch to hint at the des-
tination of the victim.

Disappointed, they strolled off,
snapping casket lights on at random.

Juniper-Hallett said: “All these

folks, I understand, took a hibernine
pill because they hoped they’d wake
up in a better world than the one
they were in. I wonder how many
of ’em will really like it better.”

Lane-Walsh laughed harshly.
“Whaddya mean, better? We’ve
got a properly organized set-up,
haven’t we, with a place for every-
body and everybody in his place?
^^^lat more could they want?”

“I was just wondering — ”

“That’s the trouble with you,
shrimp. You’d almost be a man if
you weren’t always wondering and
thinking. Hell, what does anybody
want to think for? We hire the en-
gineers to do that. Hey, what — ”

Juniper-Hallett was bending over
behind one of the caskets. He said
softly: “They ought to polish this
floor up better.” He waved Lane-
Walsh to silence as the latter opened
his mouth to speak. Lane-Walsh,
for all his bluster, took orders do-
cilely enough in the presence of any-
thing he did not understand.

“See,” said Juniper-Hallett. There
were a lot of parallel scratches run-
ning from the casket to the wall.
“Somebody’s been shoving this box
back and forth. Now if we could
stick around here after the guards
chase the rest out at seventeen —
Oh-oh!”

“What’s up, sister?” asked Lane-
Walsh.

“You wouldn’t understand, lame
brain. It occurs to me that there’s
a comptometer hitched to each of
those turnstiles, so the guards can
tell after they close the place whether
as many people came out as went in.
Got it?”

“Oh. I get it. What’ll we do
then?”

“If you’ll shut up and let a man
with a brain think, maybe I can fig-

19S

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

ure a way.” Juniper-Hallett fell si-
lent. 'J'iien he gave his friendly
enemy instructions.

Tliey started out the front door,
I.<ane-Walsh leading. Lane-Walsh
passed throu^ the outgoing turn-
stile and halt^ a couple steps be-
yond it to light a cigarette. He re-
marked to the nearest guard: “So
this is 3'our wonderful Los Angeles
climate, huh.^ I’ve been here just
a week, and it’s rained the whole
time.”

I'he guard grinned. “You oughta
be here in summer, mister. Say,
would you move out of the way a
little? People want to get by you.”
“People” in this case meant Hor-
ace Juniper-Hallett. He had gone
through the turnstile behind Lane-
Walsh. "When Lane-Walsh had
stopped, he had stopped, too. While
concealed from the doormen by
Lane-Walsh’s broad shoulders, he
reached back and gave the turn-
stile a couple of quick yanks.

They strolled off into the drizzle
while Lane-Walsh finished his ciga-
rette. Juniper-Hallett explained:
“I turned the out turnstile a couple
of extra quadrants, so it reads two
visitors too many.”

“So what? If the out stile reads
two more than the in, they’ll know
something’s wrong — ”

“Dimwit! When we go back in
we’ll raise the reading on the in stile
by two, so they’ll balance after
everybody but us has been cleared
out.”

“Oh,” said Lane-Walsh. “I get
it. We better hurry back, or they’ll
wonder why we’re coming in just be-
fore closing time.”

“Almost human intelligence,” said
Juniper-Hallett. “It’ll be too bad to
spoil what little wits you have by
erasing your skull again, when we
have our duel.”

At seventeen the guards blew
their whistles and herded everybody
out. Juniper-Hallett and Lane-
Walsh, by a bit of adroit dodging,
hid from the guards, and were left
in the empty Crypt. Most of the
lights went out. There was no sound
but the occasional, very faint, honk
of an automobile hwn wafted in
from outside.

Juniper-Hallett took out a sand-
wich and divided it with Lane-
Walsh, who had not thought to bring
one. Between bites Juniper-Hallett
pointed to a bit of incomplete elec-
trical wiring along the wall. He
whispered: “I guess they’re putting
in a fancy burglar-alarm system.
Good thing we got here before they
finished it.”

“Say,” said Lane-W’alsh,
“wouldn’t it be something if all the
dormice woke up at once and came
out of their coffins?”

“It would scare me silly,” said
Juniper-Hallett.

“Me, too,” said Lane-W’alsh.

They fell silent for a long time,
huddling behind a pair of caskets
and listening to their own breathing.
Even the breathing stopped when
a night watchman passed through
the hall on his rounds, his keys
jingling faintly.

An hour later, when the watchman
was due to pass again, Juniper-
Hallett took off his shoes. When
the watchman passed, Juniper-
Hallett followed him, flitting from
casket to casket like an apprehen-
sive ghost.

He came back in a few minutes.
He explained: “I wanted to find
what route he takes. The last sta-
tion he keys into is in the next hall;
after he w'orks the dingus there he
goes down to the basement and
smokes his pipe.”

“So what?” whispered Lane-
Walsh. “If you make me sit on

THE STOLEN DORMOUSE

139

th is floor all night just to watch the
watchman make his rounds. I’ll — ”

“You suggested looking into this
place!’’

“Sure I did, but staying here all
night was your — ”

“Shr

^ Two MORE hours passed, marked
by the watchman’s plod past.

Then the watchers heard another
step; a quicker one. They did not
liave to see the man to know that
he was not the watchman. He
walked straight down the passage
between the rows of caskets, and
stopped at the casket that Juniper-
Hallett thought had been moved.

The two outcasts peeked around
the corners of their respective cas-
kets. The stranger was pressing the
button that lit up the inside of the
casket, making a series of short and

long flashes. When he had finished,
the casket rumbled back toward the
wall, exposing a hole in the floor.
Light illuminated the stranger’s face
from below, giving him a satanic
look. He climbed down into the
hole, and the casket slid back into
place.

Juniper-Hallett whispered: “That
was Hogarth-Weems, one of the Ar-
siay engineers!’’

“Does that mean the Arsiays are
back of all this?’’

“Don’t know yet.”

They started to crawl toward the
movable casket; then snapped back
into their original positions as more
footsteps approach edt Another
man walked in, flashed the light as
the first one had done, and de-
scended out of sight. Then came
another, and another. Lane-Walsh
recognized this one as a Stromberg

140 _

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engineer; so was the next one. Then
followed a couple that neither knew;
then a Crosley engineer.

Juniper-Hallett speculated: “It

must be an Ayesmy meeting.”

“Because they have engineers
from all the different companies.'*”
“Right.”

“Boy!” breathed Lane-Walsh.
“What wouldn’t Bickham-Smith
give to know where their hide-out
is! He hates ’em like poison, and
so do I. Even worse than the Cros-
leys.”

“What’s so terrible about them?”
asked Juniper-Hallett, more to be
contrary than because he wished to
defend the secret brotherhood.

“They don’t know their place,
that’s , what. They’ve got a lot of
wild revolutionary ideas about
abolishing compulsory technician’s
contracts, and letting engineers de-
cide for themselves which company
they’d like to work for. If their
ideas were put through, it would
gum up the whole machinery of our
Corporate State. They — ”

“SA.'”

They waited a while longer, but
no more men came in. Eleven had
entered the hole in the floor. .Tu-
niper-Hallett and Lane-Walsh
crawled over to the movable casket.
They put their heads down next to
the floor and next to various parts
of the casket. From one place it
was possible to hear a faint murmur
of voices, but no words could be dis-
Mnguished.

Juniper-Hallett said: “The watch-
men must be in on it.”

Lane-Walsh nodded. They went
back -to their hiding places and
waited for something to happen.

It did, in the form of another visit
by the night watchman. Juniper-
Hallett rose and followed him in
stocking feet, beckoning to Lane-
Walsh.

The watchman had just turned
the key in the last signal station on

THE STOLEN DORMOUSE

141

his route, when Lane-Walsh’s big
hands shut off his windpipe. He
struggled and tried to yell, but noth-
ing came out but a faint gurgle.
Presently he was unconscious. Lane-
Walsh relieved him of his pistol.

Juniper-Hallett looked doubtful
at this. “You know what the law
and the Convention say about carry-
ing a firearm,” he said.

Lane-Walsh sneered silently.
“Bunk! A lot of the upper execs
and entrepreneurs carry ’em. I
know.”

Juniper-Hallett subsided, and
helped to tie up and gag the watch-
man. For anybody other than an
authorized person, such as a watch-
man or soldier, to have a firearm in
his possession was a serious viola-
tion of the statutes, and was an even
worse violation of the Convention
than hitting an engineer over the
head wnth a wrecking bar. Young
company members were allowed to
settle their differences with dueling
sticks instead, whose use seldom re-
sulted in fatal injuries.

Juniper-Hallett admitted that
Lane-Walsh probably knew what he
was talking about. On the other
hand it irritated him that the man
should be so violently in favor of
the legal and social scheme under
w'hich he lived, and at the same time
be so cynically tolerant of viola-
tions of its laws and mores, at least
by members of his owm group.
Juniper-Hallett was one of those
serious-minded persons who can
never understand wnde discrepancies
between theory and practice in hu-
man affairs.

They went back to the hall con-
taining the movable casket. Lane-
Walsh wanted to flash the light in
the movable casket and, when the
casket moved, to jump down and

hold up the whole meeting. Juniper-
Hallett refused.

They waited three hours more.
'ITien the casket rumbled back. The
eleven men climbed out one by one,
five minutes apart, and disappeared.

“Now,” said Juniper-Hallett.

“But, you damn fool, they’re all
gone! There won’t be anybody in
the hole!”

“Somebody let the first bird in,”
said Juniper-Hallett. “And unless
he’s gone out another exit he’s there
yet.” He put his shoes on, went
over to the movable casket, and
pressed the light switch in the se-
quence of flashes used by the en-
gineers.

The casket rumbled back. Light
flooded up out of the hole.

Lane-Walsh, pistol ready, tum-
bled down the steep steps. Juniper-
Hallett followed.

They were in a room, four or five
meters square, wdth a door leading
into another room. Two men were
in the room. One was emptying ash-
trays into a wastebasket. The other
w'as gathering up empty coffee cups.

Tliey stared at the intruders and
at the intruders’ gun. They slowly
raised their hands.

One of them was the square man
with the monocle, Duke-Holmquist.
A patch of his scalp was shaven and
covered with adhesive tape, where
the wrecking bar had landed. The
other man Juniper-Hallett did not
know; he was a dark-skinned man
with stiff gray hair and a smooth-
contoured, slightly Mongoloid face.

“That’s him. The dormouse,”
said Lane-Walsh, referring evidently
to the dark man.

“Arnold Ryan to you, mister,”
said the dark man. “I’m tired of
having people talk as if I were a
rodent.”

“All right, Arnold Ryan,” said

14 «

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Lane- Walsh, “what’s this all about?
W’hat are you doing here?”

“Looking for four-leafed clovers,
sir,” said Arnold Ryan.

“Conae on, come on, no funny
stuff. You see this gun?”

“I say, is that a gun? I thought
it was a grand piano.”

Lane- Walsh got red in the face.
“When I ask you something I want
an answer!” he roared.

“You got one. Two, to be ex-
act.”

Lane- Walsh showed signs of immi-
nent apoplexy. “I want to know
what this meeting was! Ayesmies or
what?”

“The meeting,” said Ryan imper-
turbably, “was erf the Los Angeles
Three-dimensional Chess Club.”

I.ane-Walsh tore at his coppery
hair with his free hand. “Liar! If
it were a chess club, you’d have
boards and pieces!”

“That’s simple. We play it in our
heaels.”

Juniper-Hallett touched Lane-
W’alsh’s arm. “Better let me talk
to him,” he said. He asked a few
questions of the two men, but got
no more satisfaction than had Lane-
Walsh.

They held a whispered consulta-
tion. “What’ll we do with ’em?”
said Lane-Walsh. “If we start a
public row, we’ll expose the Ayesmy,
but they’ll take the dormouse away
from us.”

Juniper-Hallett thought. “I think
I know a place where we can hide
’em for a few days.” He addressed
Duke-Holmquist: “Mr. Duke-Holni-
quist, I don’t know why you went
to so much trouble to steal Mr.
Ryan. But it’s obvious that you
wanted him pretty badly. So I
won’t threaten you; I’ll ju.st say that
unless you come along peacefully,
we’ll .shoot Mr. Ryan. We’ll try not
to shoot him fatally. All right.

Justin old fathead, make ’em follow
me.”

He led the way out of the secret
room. Behind him he could hear a
whispered argument between the
two engineers: “I told you we ought
to have changed the meeting place.”
“But we couldn’t on such short no-
tice; you know why.” “Bunk!
Once a dormouse was involved,
somebody was bound to stumble on
us sooner or later — ”

vn.

Miles Cabey-West, Juniper-Hal-
lett’s elderly geneticist friend, Avas
astonished to find four men ringing
his doorbell at half-past one.

When the prisoners had filed in,
Juniper-Hallett took Carey-West
aside and explained the situation.

“Horace!” protested Carey-West.
“I can’t — That’s a terrible thing
to do to me! Where would I keep
them? What if it were found out — ”

“You could blame it all on us,”
said Juniper-Hallett. “And we’ll
keep them in your basement. Please!
Maybe I can use them to stop the
Stromberg-Crosley feud. And Ja-
net—”

“Oh, very well,” grumbled the
geneticist. “No arguing with you, I
see.”

Duke-Holmquist and the ex-
dormouse were taken down to the
basement and made more or less
comfortable.

“What’ll we do now'?” asked Lane-
Walsh. “Flip a coin to see who gets
’em?”

“I’ve got a better idea than that,”
said Juniper-Hallett. He explained
his plan for using the dormouse as
bait to persuade the heads of the
Stromberg and Crosley companies to
bury their feud and merge.

“What!” cried Lane-Walsh. “Us

THE STOI-EN DORMOUSE

Its

join up with a lot of lousy Crosleys?
The worst manufacturing company
in the business?”

“Yep. You’ll find we’re not so
bad.”

“Oh, I see why you want it — so
they’ll let you and Janet live to-
gether peacefully. Tliough why
some people are so hot about mar-
ried life I never could see.”

“That does enter in.”

“Huh! As if it weren’t bad
enough that a good Stromberg gal
goes and marries a weak sister like
you, you want to ruin the proudest
and noblest house of ’em all by — ”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,
Justin old louse. Think of all the
credit we’ll get for stopping the feud
and bringing about the merger!
Everybody’s forgotten what started
it in the first place, and I’m sure the

execs would be glad to call it off if
they could do so without losing face.”

“Hm-m-m. Well. Now that you
put it that way — but I’d have to
think about it.”

“That’s easy enough. We’ll have
to get some sleep before we can start
our campaign.”

They agreed that Lane-Walsh
should take the first watch. Juniper-
Hallett, as he curled up, gave his
partner a fleeting glance. In his
mind were the first seeds of suspi-
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Walsh had the gun, and Lane-Walsh
decided to double-crossTiim and turn
Ryan over to his company forth-
with —

But so far Lane-Walsh had played
the game fairly enough, even though
he and Juniper-Hallett liked each
other no better than when they

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started. A double cross like that, so
easy, would be a violatioir of the
code. And Horace Juniper-Hallett
still had a good deal of faith in his
code. What would be would be. He
went to sleep. •

Lane-Walsh awakened him at
three, gave him the gun, and went to
sleep in his turn.

Across the dimly lit basement the
prisoners sprawled on their mattress.
Duke-Holmquist was asleep, but
Arnold Ryan was looking at him si-
lently with bright black eyes.

“I wish you birds would tell me
something about your activities,”
said Juniper-Hallett.

“I,” said Ryan, “am a biological
engineer, as you ought to know.
I’m working on the development of
a variety of pepper tree that doesn’t
shed little sticky red berries all over
the sidewalk, to stick to the soles
of your shoes. Those little berries
are one of the major drawbacks to
life in your charming capital, as I
see it.”

“No, seriously,” said Juniper-
Hallett, feeling very young and in-
adequate in the presence of this
smooth jokester. “If I knew what
you were up to, I’d have a better
idea of whether I was doing the right
thing. For instance, you’re part
Hawaiian, aren’t you.'*”

“Everybody knows that,” said
Ryan. “My mother’s name was Vic-
toria Liliuokalani Hashimoto, which
is as good an old Hawaiian name as
you’ll find. Each of the names carries
the flavor of one of the three main
ethnic strains we’re descended from.”

“Are you working for the Ha-
waiians.!*”

Ryan laughed. “You wouldn’t ex-
pect me to admit it if I were?” he
asked.

“All right. Can you tell me some-
thing about Hawaii? As far as I
know, no American has been there
for many years.”

Ryan shrugged. “I can tell you

THE STOLEN DORMOUSE

145

what I knew from first-hand experi-
ence before I went into the hibernine
sleep; or I can tell you what I’ve
heard in the few days since my
awakening. Not, you understand,
that I’ve been in personal touch with
Ilawaiians.”

“Mainly I’d like to know why they
don’t let themselves be civiliz^ like
other people, and won’t let anybody
on their islands.’’

“Oh, that,” said Ryan. “You
think they should organize them-
selves into a tightly compartmented
Corporate State like the American
Empire, with an arrogant and dis-
oderly aristocracy at the head of it,
and worship Service at the Gyratory
and Tigers’ Clubs every Sunday, and
spend half their time running their
legs off to produce as much as pos-
sible, and the other half running their
legs off trying to consume what they
have produced?”

“Well — I didn’t say they should;
I asked w'hy they didn’t.”

“They don’t like the idea, that’s
all. They’d rather just lie on the
beach. They’ve got a stationary
population, all the food they can eat,
and all the houses they can liv'e in.
And in that climate nobody wears
much of anything anyway. They
do a good deal of scientific research,
partly for fun and partly to devise
new ways of keeping out people they
don’t w'ant. But production —
phooey!”

“lliey sound like a lazy lot.”

“They are. And they value the
right to be lazy so much that they’ve
wiped out three fleets sent out from
the American and Mongolian em-
pires to change their way of living.”

Juniper-Hallett’s conscience
bothered him a little for getting all
this information while his partner
was asleep. But, he thought, he
could tell him the important parts

later. He asked: “Are they hooked
up with the Ayesmy somehow?”
Ryan grinned. “Sorry, my boy,
but you ought to know that topic
is kajnt "

“Well, what do they want?
They’re up to something, I’m sure.”
“I am told,” said Ryan carefully,
“that they’re tired of living in a per-
petual state of seige. They’d like
to travel and see the world now and
then. So, I suppose, they’d be glad
to back any change in conditions in
the empires that would enable them
to do so.”

“How did they manage to defeat
those fleets?”

“As I understand it, by three
means: one, a new source of power
— neither coal, nor petroleum, nor
atomic power. Don’t ask me what
it is, because I wouldn’t tell you even
if I knew. You’ll hear more about
it when the Antarctic coal fields run
out. Two: a system of multiply-
ing terrestrial magnetism over a
given area, so that any fast-moving
metal object, like an airplane engine,
gets red-hot from eddy currents
when it passes through the field.
And finally their aerial torpedoes,
which are nothing very remarkable
except for their system of remote
control. Now you know almost as
much about their defenses as the
defense chief of the Empire.”
“What’s the Ayesmy?”

“The American Society of Me-
chanical Engineers.”

“I know that,” said JunipCT-
Hallett. “But who are they and
what are they trying to do?”
“You’re the most persistent young
fellow. But I’m not telling you any-
thing that the heads of your com-
panies don’t know already. When
the professional societies were sup-
pressed as a disrupting influence by
the first dictator, who came to power
following the short-lived Communist

146

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

rf^mc that ruled after we lost the
War of 19t)8 — as I was saying, the
A.S.M.E. was the only one that
survived; underground, of course.
And when the dictatorship began to
decay under the fourth and fifth
dictators, with the actual power be-
ing taken by a Board of Control
representing the companies, they re-
vived, though the companies fought
them almost as hard as the dictators
had done.

“Nowadays, as I understand it,
the Ayesmy consists of a lot of en-
gineers who don’t like the Corporate
.State generally and the compulsory
contract system in particular. They
claim it makes them just high-priced
•slaves.”

Juniper-Hallett was silent for a

few seconds while he tried to figure
out how the term “high-pricetl
slave” applied to the engineers, and,
if it did, what was so objectionable
about that status. He asked: “What
do you think about the compulsory
contract system.^”

“I don’t. I never have opinions
on political questions.” Ryan gave
a slight, malicious grin that tohl
Juniper-Hallett he wasn’t to take
these statements too seriously.

“Look here, what would you like
us to do with you.?”

“Let us go, and forget you’d ever
seen us or the room under the
Crypt.”

“Why.?”

“We’d just prefer it, that’s all.”
“We can’t very well do that,” said

THE STOLEN DORMOUSE

147

Juniper-Hallett. “Our reinstate-
ment depends on giving you up.”

“I was afraid that was the case.
But you asked me what we’d like.”
“Is there any particular reason
why we should let you go?”

Ryan shrugged. “Just say we’re
allergic to having the affairs of the
Los Angeles Three-dimensional
Chess Club poked into.”

“Oh, now, you don’t expect me to
believe — ”

“I don’t care what you believe,
young man.”

Juniper-Hallett, feeling a bit hurt,
shut up. This man fascinated him;
Juniper-Hallett was sure he had the
solution of all the little mysteries and
discrepancies that had been puzzling
him. But the man was not, he
thought, inclined to meet him half-
way.

“You understand,” Juniper-Hal-
lett told Lane- Walsh when they had
breakfasted, “you’re to telephone
first to Lord Archwin, and then to
Lord Billiam. You tell each one
you’ll hand the dormouse over to
the other unless they’ll listen to our
proposals. When you’ve softened
’em up, arrange a three-way connec-
tion so you can talk terms. And —
if you get a chance to send Janet
here without letting the other Strom-
bergs know where our hide-out is,
I wish you would. This being just
married and not even being able to
see your w'ife is driving me nuts.
Got it?”

“I get it, shrimp.”

Juniper-Hallett hesitated. “I . . .
I don’t want you to think I’m sus-
picious, Justin old scum, but will you
give me your word as a business-
man?”

“Sure. You’ve got it.”
Juniper-Hallett gave a sigh of re-
lief. The word of a businessman was
a pretty serious thing. He took the
AST— 10

pistol from Lahe-W’alsh, and
watched his partner tramp up the
basement steps and out.

Duke-Holmquist turned his mono-
cle on Juniper-Hallett. “You’re a
pretty trusting young man,” he said.

Juniper-Hallett shrugged. “He
gave me his word. And if he ever
wants to be reinstated, he won’t dare
break it.”

Arnold Ryan grinned sardonically.
“You have a lot to learn,” he said.

They were all silent. Juniper-
Hallett paced the floor nervously,
keeping an eye on his captives.
These did not seem much disturbed.
Ryan was chewing gum and Duke-
Holmquist smoking a malodorous
pipe.

“Tell me,” said Juniper-Hallett to
Ryan, “how did they wake you up?”

Ryan shrugged. “Strontium bro-
mide; an otherwise more or less use-
less salt. Some bright Stromberg
engineer discovered that it counter-
acted hibemine. They kidnaped me
from the Crypt so they could wake
me up and ask foolish questions
about the Hawaiians’ power, without
having to release the formula to the
Board of Control and bid against
the other companies for my custody.
If any one company got the secret
of the Hawaiians’ power, it could
practically extort control of the
Board when the coal shortage ar-
rives.”

Juniper-Hallett continued pacing.
For the first hour he was not much
concerned. But as the second wore
on, he felt more and more queasy.
Lane-Walsh, in accordance with his
instructions^ should have finishetl his
telephoning and reported back by
now. Of course, the fact that he
was to make his different calls from
different drugstores, in case one of
the chairmen should try to locate
him, would complicate matters.

118

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Juniper-Hallett couldn’t leave his
prisoners to do some telephoning of
his own.

Time passed, and suspicion and
alarm grew in Juniper-Hallett ’s
young brain. Lane-Walsh might
have met with foul play, or he might
be indulging in a little of the same
himself —

And he was tied to his prisoners.
He didn’t dare use his host’s phone
for fear of being located. He could
not walk the captives around the
streets in broad daylight at the point
of a gun. He regarded the weapon
with distaste; he had never fired one,
and had been brought up to consider
the possession of one by a white-
collar or businessman a disgraceful
thing.

He heard old Carey-West’s door-
bell ring. He listened, tensely, for
Lane-Walsh’s return.

But it was Janet.

“Darling!” they both cried at once.
In the midst of the embrace that
followed, Juniper-Hallett had the
presence of mind to swing his be-
loved around so that her back was
to the captives, whom he still men-
aced with the gun.

“Here,” said Juniper-Hallett,
pressing the gun into her hand.
“Cover these men; don’t let them get
away until I get back.”

“But Horace — ”

“Can’t explain now. Going out
to phone. I’ll be back shortly.”
And he bounded up the steps. Good
old Justin — the louse had stuck to
his word after all.

Outside the drizzle had ceaserl.
Pools of water lay on the sidewalk,
reflecting the cold blue of the sky.
Juniper-Hallett shivered and stuck
his hands deep in his pockets. He
wished he had his overcoat along.

The nearest drugstore was The

Sun at the corner of Wilshire. Ju-
niper-Hallett found his way through
the hardware and furniture depart-
ments to the phone booths, tucked
in one corner of the sporting-goods
department.

He called Archwin of Crosley. As
Lord Archwin was ex officio of the
rank of entrepreneur, he could be
located at any time through his pri-
vate portable radiotelephone set.

“Horace!” cried Lord Archwin.
“Where are you, my boy.? I’ve been
worried about you. Very much wor-
ried.”

“I’m all right. Your Integrity,”
said Juniper-Hallett. “And I’ve got
the dormouse.”

“You have.? You have? Where?
We’ll come collect him, at once!”

“Just a minute. Your Integrity,
You see, I didn’t catch him all by
myself,” He gave a thumbnail ac-
count of his co-operation with Justin
Lane-Walsh, and of his offer to give
up the dormouse in return for the
chairman’s promise to initiate a mer-
ger.

Archwin of Crosley heard him
through, then asked suspiciously:
“Wfliere’s that Lane-Walsh? Is he
with you?”

“No, sir, he w^ent out to phone you
and his own chairman, leaving me
with the prisoners. But I haven’t
heard from him, and I’m afraid
something happened to — ”

“You idiot!” yelled Archwin into
his transmitter. “Idiot! Idiot! Im-
becile! Fool! Don’t you know he’s
gone to get the Strombergs to take
your men away from you? Don’t
you know that?”

“But he gave me his word as a
businessman — ”

“Idiot! W’hat’s a businessman’s
word worth? Nothing, when his
company’s interests are involved!
Nothing! What’s any Stromberg’s

149

word worth? Nothing, again! You
tell us where to find the dormouse,
quick, before the Strombergs get
there, or — ”

“Hey!” said Juniper-Hallett. “I
won’t do anything of the kind. And
Justin Lane-Walsh did keep his
word, at least as far as sending my
wife to me. I’ve kept my word and
he’s—”

“You utter nitwit!” shrieked the
chairman. “You young jackass!
You can kiss your reinstatement
good-by! We don’t want traitors
and sentimental pantywaists in the
organization! You — ”

Juniper-Hallett had heard Lord
Archwin in a tantrum before, and
knew that arguments were useless.
He hung up and started sadly back
to the geneticist’s house. If the
chairman said he wouldn’t readmit
him to the company, he wouldn’t re-
admit him to the company. He
wondered whether Lane-Walsh had
gotten in touch with his own chair-
man —

And then an ominous thought
struck him. He walked faster.

Janet was still there in the base-
ment, covering the two engineers,
who were being gallant.

Juniper-Hallett bounded down the
steps. “Janet! Didn’t Justin Lane-
Walsh send you here?”

“Why no, Horace. I haven’t
heard from Justin since he was de-
graded. I came here because I
thought Mr. Carey-West could tell
me where you — ”

“Oh my Service! Then Justin did
double-cross me! Lord Archwin was
right; I am an idiot. Now I’m in
bad with the Crosleys, and Justin’ll
be here any minute with a gang of
Strombergs!” He took the pistol
from Janet and laid it on the table.
He tuiTied to Ryan and Duke-Holm-
quist. “I guess you birds can go;
I don’t see how I can do any good
keeping you here.”

The engineers grinned as if they

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had expected something of the sort
all along. Duke-Holmquist said:
“Why don’t you throw in with us,
young man.? You can’t expect any-
thing from the companies, you
know.”

“I don’t know ... I don’t know
what you stand for — ”

Duke-Holmquist opened his
mouth to say something. Just then
the door flew open, and four Strom-
bergs with dueling sticks tumbled
down the steps. In their lead was
Justin Lane-Walsh.

Lane-Walsh ijounced on the pis-
toj. He turned to Juniper-Hallett,
grinning nastily. “Hah, sister, so
you’re still here, huh? Very nice,
ve-ery nice indeed. We’ll take these
smart engineers along. But first
we ll teach you to marry a decent
Stromberg girl.”

Janet e.xploded. “You let him
alone! He’s my husband!”

“Exactly; that’s just the point.
But when we get through with him
he won’t be anybody’s husband.
Then maybe yon can marry some
decent Stromberg. Not me, of
course,” he added hastily.

Janet punched Justin Lane-Walsh
in the nose.

Horace Juniper-Hallett kicked one
of the Strombergs in the shin, violat-
ing Paragraph 9a, Section D, Rule 5
of the Convention. Then he
wrenched the stick out of the man’s
hands, and hit him over the head
with it.

The two engineers went into ac-
tion likewise. Juniper-Hallett never
could remember just what happened
next. He did remember boosting
Janet up the steps by main force, the
engineers behind him, and slamming
and locking the basement door just
as the pistol roared and a bullet tore
through the plastic.

“Mmglph,” said a bundle of ropes
on the floor. It was Miles Carey-
West. They cut him loose. Another

THE STOLEN DORMOUSE

lol

bullet crashed through the door;
they all ducked.

“What do we do now?” asked
Juniper-Hallett.

The two engineers had been whis-
pering. Duke-Holniquist said: “Fol-
low me.”

They sprinted out of the house.
Carey-West panted after them, cry-
ing: “Can I come, too? I’m sunk
anyway once it comes out that you
used my house.”

Duke-Holmquist nodded curtly
and walked swiftly to Wilshire
Boulevard. There he hailed a cab
and piled his whole party into it.
“The Dormouse Crypt,” he told the
driver.

“Where are we going?” asked Ju-
niper-Hallett.

“Hawaii,” said Duke-Holmquist.

“What?” Juniper-Hallett turned
his puzzled frown to Ryan.

Ryan, instead of explaining how
one got to Hawaii via the Crypt,
said: “He’s convinced finally that his
strike plan’s fallen through. We’ll
have to skip. You’d better come
along.”

Duke-Holmquist nodded gloomily.
“If I’d had a couple more years to
prepare — ”

They zipped up the steep hill at
the north end of Western Avenue.

Janet said: “But I’m not sure I
want to go to Hawaii — ”

“Sh, sweetheart,” said Juniper-
Hallett. “We’re in this up to our
necks, and we might as well stick
with them.” He turned to Ryan.
“I can’t understand why Lane-
Walsh, if he was going to double-
cross me, didn’t do it last night while
I was asleep and he had the gun.”

Ryan shrugged. “He probably
didn’t make up his mind to do so
until after he left Carey-West’s
house. He’s not terribly bright,
from what I hear.”

They stopped and got out. Duke-

Holmquist told the driver to wait,
and strode up to the front entrance
of the Crypt. He whispered to the
doorman.

The doorman stepped inside and
shouted: “All visitors out, please!
There’s a time bomb in the Crypt,
and it may go off any minute. All
out, please! There’s a time bomb,
and these experts have come to take
it away. All — ”

He jumped aside as the first of
the visitors to realize what he was
saying went through the turnstile
with his overcoat fluttering behind
him. The others followed in record
time. It did not take long, for it
was still morning, and the Crypt
was not yet full of visitors.

The engineers went straight to
the movable casket, put their shoul-
ders to it, and rolled it back. Juni-
per-Hallett and his bride followed
them down into the underground
room.

They did not take the time to pull
the rope that slid the casket back
over the hole. They went straight
to a wall cupboard, opened it, and
took out a simple electrical appa-
ratus which Juniper-Hallett did not
recognize.

A couple of wires led from the ap-
pai'atus back into the cabinet. The
apparatus had a brass arm with a
circular j>ad on the end of it. Duke-
Holmquist began depressing and re-
leasing this arm, so that it went
iick-iick-tick, tick, tick-tick, and so
on. Juniper-Hallett was mystified.
Then he remembered that one of the
pioneers in electrical communica-
tion, centuries before, had invented a
system of sending words over wires
by having intermittent impulses
represent the letters. The man’s
name had been— Morris? Marcy?
No matter. Duke-Holmquist was
sending a message of some kind.

15 «

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

And now and then he paused while
the machine ticked back at him.

One of the Crypt guards put his
head down the hole. “Mr. Duke-
Holmquist, sir!” he said. “They’ve
come!”

“The Strombergs?”

“Yes, sir. Automobiles full of
them.”

VIII.

Duke-Holmquist finished his
ticking and stood up. He asked:
“Have any of you boys guns?”

“No, sir. Toomey-Johnson, the
night watchman, is the only one of
us allowed to have one, and his was
taken off him the other night.”

The burly engineer cursed softly.
Then he bounded up the steep steps.
The others followed.

About fifteen Strombergs stood
around the entrance, hefting their
sticks. Their way was barred by
three guards with billies. Justin
I^ane- Walsh, among them, yelled in:
“You might as well send ’em out,
or we’ll come in and get ’em!”

Juniper-Hallett asked Duke-
Holmquist: “What are the cops do-
ing?”

“We don’t want to call in the po-
lice, and neither do they.” The en-
gineer turned to the guard who had
called them: “How about the rear
entrance?”

“They got some men there, too,
sir; all around.”

“Looks as though we were stuck,”
said Duke-Holmquist somberly.

Juniper-Hallett fingered the stick
he had taken from the Stromberg.
“Our cab’s still out there.”

“Yes, but we haven’t got a chance
of getting to it.”

“I don’t know,” said Juniper-
Hallett. “I can run pretty fast.”

“You’ve got an idea, Juniper-
Hallett?”

“Yep. I’ll draw ’em off, and you
make a run for the cab.”

“Horace!” said Janet. “You must
not take such a risk — ”

“That’s all right, darling.” He
kissed her and trotted off to the rear
entrance.

Two guards inside it faced three
Strombergs outside. Juniper-Hallett
pushed between the guards and
leaped at the nearest Stromberg.
Whack! Whack! The Stromberg
dropped his stick with a howl. The
others closed in on Juniper-Hallett;
one of them landed a blow on his
shoulder. Then Juniper-Hallett
wasn’t there any more. He dodged
past them and raced around the big
building over the smooth lawn. He
hit one of the front-door Strombergs
and kept on running, pausing just
long enough to thumb his nose at
the rest as they turned startled faces
toward him.

Yapping like a pack of hounds,
they streamed away after him. He
ran down the long hill, breathing
easily. This was fun. He could out-
run the whole lot —

He took another glance back, and
ran into a fire hydrant. He went
sprawling, fiery pain shooting
through his right leg. The yells rose
as they pounded down to seize him.

The cab squealed to a stop just
beside him. He had barely the
strength and presence of mind to
reach a hand up; a hand from the
cab caught it and pulled him in.
That is, it pulled him part way in;
a Stromberg got a hand on his
ankle.

“Ow!” yelled Juniper-Hallett.

The tug-of-w ar was decided by the
cab driver, w'ho spun his rheostat.
Off they w'ent. The would-be cap-
tor was dragged a few steps, and
then let go.

“I think my leg’s broken,” said

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Jiiniper-Hallett. Ryan felt the leg
and decided it was just bruised.

Janet, looking out the rear win-
dow, said: “They’re coming in their
cars.”

“Can’t you go any faster.?” Duke-
Holmquist asked the driver.

“Governor’s on,” was the reply.
“Can’t do over sixty k’s.”

“Damn,” said Duke-Holmquist.
“What’s- that.?” asked Ryan.
“Cars have governors nowadays?”
“Yes. They go on automatically
when you enter a built-up area.
But if we can’t do over sixty, nei-
ther can they.”

They purred sedately down West-
ern Avenue at sixty kilometers per
hour, and the Stromberg force
purred after them. Now and then
one party would gain when the other
was held up by traffic. But on the
whole they maintained the same in-
terval.

Duke-Holmquist asked the driver:
“When does it go off?”

“Slauson Avenue.”

“When it does go off,” said Juni-
per-Hallett, “they’ll be able to catch
us. They’ve got big, fast cars.
Where are we headed for, anyway?”
“San Pedro,” said Duke-Holm-
quist.

“Are we taking a seaplane?”

“No. The navy could catch us
easily.”

“Submarine?”

“No. There hasn’t been time for
the Hawaiians to send us one.”
“What, then?”

“You’ll see.”

“But — ” Just then they reached
the southern limit of the governor
zone, and Juniper-Hallett’s question
was choked off by the cab’s spurt.
The driver kept his hand on the
horn button. They gained several
blocks on the pursuers before the
latter reached the edge of the zone
and accelerated.

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“They’re gaining,” said Janet.

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“Oh, dear,” said Carey- West. The
little oldster was trembling.

They squealed around a corner
and raced ov^er to Main Street, then
took another corner.

“They’re still coming,” said Janet.
A Uttle while later she said:
“They’re gaining again.”

Duke-Holmquist and Ryan looked
at each other. “Maybe we could
figure the point where they’ll catch
us by differentials,” said the former.

“Maybe,” said Ryan, “we could
tell ’em we’re not us, but a family
on its way to a polo game.”

Juniper-Hallett looked to the
right of the car into the open cut
in which the Pacific Electric’s inter-
urban line ran. “Hey!” he said,
“look down there!”

Half a mile ahead of them they
could see the tapering stern of a car
pulling into the North Compton
station.

“Change to a streetcar?” said
Duke-Holmqnist.

“Right. Hey, driv'er!”

They skidded into the station.
They were scrambling aboard a few
seconds later when the Stromberg
cars pulled up.

The streetcar was a thirty-meter
torpedo that ran on two rails, one
below it and the other overhead.
The motorman’s compartment was
a closed-off section in the nose. The
four men and the girl marched up to
the front of the car, threw open the
door, and crowded into the com-
partment. The legitimate passen-
gers looked at one another. They
had never seen that happen before.
But then these people had seemed
to know what they were doing, so
they didn’t feel called upon to inter-
fere. The car started, a bit jerkily.
It accelerated up to its normal two
hundred kilometers per hour. It
kept on accelerating. The passen-
gers began to mutter and look to
their safety belts.

Inside the compartment, the mo-

THE STOLEN DORMOUSE

tom)an, who was being firmly sat
upon by Duke-Holmquist and Ryan,
protested; “You’ll pass Gardena
station! Tbis is a local! You gotta
stop at Gardena!”

“Hell with Gardena,” said Jmaiper-
Hallett over his shoulder. He was
at the controls.

“How fast is she going.'*” asked
Ryan.

“Three hundred and thirty-six
k's.”

“You’ll burn out the fuel bat-
teries!” wailed the motorman.

Juniper-Hallett said soothingly:
“The P.E. can sue us, then. Say,
maybe you’d better tell me how to
stop this thing, motorman old sock!”

“What.^” shrieked the motorman.
“You don’t even know?”

Somebody knocked on the door.
The committee ignored the knock.
Somebody tried the door, but they
had locked it in advance.

The motorman told Juniper-Hal-
lett how to stop the car. He also
asked where they were.

“I’m not sure,” said Juniper-
Hallett, “everything goes by in such
a blur. Matter of fact, I think we’re
near Anaheim Road.”

“Then stop it! Stop it!” yelled
the motorman. “Or we’ll go right
off the end of the track into the
drink!”

“Oh, my!” said Carey-West.

Junipkk-Hallett applied the
brake. Ihe landscape continued to
flash past; they had come out of the
cut onto an embankment. Juniper-
Hallett applied more brake, Wil-
mington rushed at them. The de-
celeration squashed them all against
the front of the car. They were
through W’ilmington and screeching
down the end of the line. The bump-
ers grew at them as the landscape
finally slowed down. They hit the

bumpers with a bang, and tumbled
backward.

They raced out through a ear full
of ja^-faced passengers. Duke-
Holmquist led them a couple of
blocks to the waterfront.

“Damaso!” yelled Duke-Holm-
quist.

A swarthy man stuck his face up
over the edge of the nearest pier.
“Hiya, boss!” he said.

“Everything ready.?”

“Sure is, sir.”

They tumbled breathlessly down
steps and into an outboard boat.
Before they had recovered their
breath, Damaso had cast off and
purred out to a dirty-white yawl an-
chored among a flock of motorboats,
sailboats, and tuna clippers.

“Are w'e going in that?" gasped
Juniper-Hallett.

“Uh-huh. Climb aboard.”

“But you’re crazy! They’ll catch
us in a police launch or something in
ten minutes!”

“Do as you’re told,” snapped
Duke-Holmquist .

Juniper-Hallett, half convinced
that he was accompanying a party
of lunatics, hopped aboard the yawl
and helped Janet up. Damaso was
already casting off from the buoy.
The yawl had a little coke-gas aux-
iliary that sputtered into feeble life.
Juniper-Hallett was sure the engi-
neers were crazy; starting for Ha-
waii — with half the Stromberg Co.,
and the Los Angeles Harbor Police,
not to mention the Imperial Ameri-
can Navy, likely to be after them
any time — in a little cockleshell de-
signed for taking people out for a
day’s fishing. The boat did stink of
fish, at that, and the low afternoon
sun glinted on a silvery scale here
and there.

They vibrated out of the long
channel with maddening slowness.
Juniper-Hallett squeez^ Janet’s

159

ASTOUNDmC SCIENCE-nCTION

hand until she complained he was
hurting her.

“Take it easy,” said Ryan.
“Duke-Holmquist knows what he’s
doing.”

“I hope he does,” said Carey-
West. “Oh, dear, why did I get
mixed up in this.’”

“Don’t worry about the police,”
said Duke-Holmquist, his monocle
reflecting the sun as he stood at the
wheel. “Lieutenant More-Love is
one of our sympathizers. The
P.E. will try to set them after us,
but he’ll see that they look every
place except the right one.”

“How about the Strombergs.!*”
asked Juniper-Hallett.

“I think one of those young nobles
owns a seaplane. If they come after
us, there may be trouble. We’ll
worry about that when the time
eomes.”

They were out of the channel.
In the outer harbor sat part of the
navy: a seaplane mother ship, thi-ee
hundred meters long, with five of her
birds around her; flying boats with
a one hundred and fifty-meter wing-
spread, each of which carried
launches and dinghies larger than
the fishing yawl.

Juniper-Hallett looked at Duke-
Holmquist, jerked his thumb toward
the flying boats, and raised his eye-
brows.

Duke-Holmquist said: “I think
the Strombergs will do everything
the.v can to catch us themselves first,
before they call in the Board of Con-
trol. If they take us, it probably
won’t be alive.”

“You’re the head of the Ayesmy,
aren’t you, sir?”

Duke-Holmquist permitted him-
self a wrj' smile. “You’re right,
youngster. Or I was until I had
to run away.”

They were rising and falling in
the Pacific swells uow\ Juniper-
Hallett said: “I wish they’d come if
they’re going to. I don’t like this
waiting.”

“The longer the wait, the better
our chances,” said Ryan imperturb-
ably.

Juniper-Hallett asked: “What was
the Ayesmy up to?”
Duke-Holmquist replied: “We

w ere going to pull a strike of all en-
gineers, to have the compulsory con-
tract system abolished. We were
going to force a lot of other re-
forms, too, to break dowm the com-
partmentation of the Corporate
State and give everybody a hand in
the government. But it was ter-
ribly slow work operating by means
of an illegal organization. If we
tried to take in all the technicians,
there’d bound to be a leak. And if
we didn’t, we couldn’t count on the
nonmembers when the time came.”
“The truth is,” said Ryan, “that
they’d never have gotten suffieient
co-operation from the profession
anyway. Your average engineer is
too much enamored of respectability
and dignity to go in for revolu-
tionary conspiracy. For the privi-
lege of rating salutes from the white-
collars, they’ll put up wdth their
state of gilded peonage indefinitely.”
“That’s not fair, Arnold,” pro-
tested Duke-Holmquist. “Y'ou know
those — ”

“We’ve argued this before,” said
Ryan, “and we’ve never gotten any-
where. I say, isn’t that our
friends?” He pointed north at a
silvery speck in the sky.

Janet said: “Justin kept his plane
at Redondo Beach.”

“That’s what took them so long,”
said Duke-Holmquist. “Damaso!
Get the things out.” He grinned at
the company, once again self-confi-

dent at the prospect of violent ac-
tion. “Stand by to repel boarders!”

The seaplane grew, snored over-
head, turned, and came down with
a smack on the waves. It taxied up
astern of the yawl.

As it approached, they could see
Justin Lane-Walsh climbing out on
the left wing. His mouth opened
and moved, but they could not hear
him against the wind and the whir
of the propeller. The seaplane
swung to one side and came up
abreast of them to windward. The
other Strombergs climbed out, too.
Lane-Walsh yelled, this time au-
dibly: “Heave to, you!”

Duke-Holmquist said: “Do you
see that pistol anywhere?”

“No,” said everybody after look-
ing.

Ryan added: “Maybe they lost
it, or emptied it breaking the lock of
that door.”

“Fine,” said Duke-Holmquist.
He put his hands to his mouth and
bellowed: “Keep off or we’ll sink
you!”

“Haw haw,” roared the Strom-
bergs.

The yawl pounded ahead through
the swells, and the breeze blew the
seaplane astern of them again. The
pilot gave the motor more juice, and
the machine crept up alongside once
more.

Duke-Holmquist called: “Let ’em
have it, Damaso!”

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Damaso, standing on the forward
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SONG POB.MS W.4NTF;D. F’ree examination. Send poems.
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selves and spread their hands as if
to catch it. But such was not Da-
inaso’s intention. The block hit the
propeller with a terrific clank; splin-
ters flew; the propeller stopped turn-
ing with a jar that shook the sea-
plane. The propeller was seen to
have one blade sharply bent, and to
have meters of rope tangled around
its hub.

The Strombergs set up a howl of
rage. Some of them climbed out on
the left wing as if ready to jump
down into the yawl, toward whicli
the wind was swiftly blowing them.
The seaplane tipped alarmingly.
The pilot yelled. A ooui)le of Strom-
bergs crawled out on the other wing
to balance the craft.

Damaso hurried aft with a boat-
hook.

Duke-Holmquist said; “Get ready
to jab a hole in their float at the
water line.’’

Damaso poised himself. The
Strombergs, yelling threats, clus-
tered at the end of the wing. At the
tip was Justin Lane- Walsh.

For a breathless thirty seconds
.the parties glared at each other, as
the two craft bobbed closer and
closer. Duke-Holmquist spun the
wheel a little, the yawl nosed down-
wind a few points.

“They're going to drift astern of
us,” said Juniper-Hallett.

Duke-Holmquist laughed shortly.
“Don’t you think I ever ran a boat
before?”

The wind pressure on the sea-
plane’s rudder had swung the craft
into the wind like a weather vane, so
that, though it was drifting astern
of them, its left wing was still toward
them. Justin Lane-Walsh gathered
himself to jump; but they were not
quite close enough.

“Hey,” said Juniper-Hallett, “we
need that bird!”

He snatched the boathook from
1 Damaso and shot the business end
I up to the seaplane wing. He caught

THE STOLEN DORMOUSE

159

the hook in Lane-Walsb’s star-
spangled pants and yanked. Lane-
Walsh’s legs went out from under
him; he sat down on the wing tip,
bounced, and smacked the water.
A cloud of spray rose, and was in-
stantly blown down against the re-
cefling seaplane.

Juniper-Hallett caught a glimpse
of a head of copper-wire hair, but
it was already out of reach of his
hook. Duke-Holmquist nodded and
brought the boat around in a big
circle. They came upon Lane-
Walsh, swimming heavily in his
clothes toward the seaplane, w’hich
was drifting swiftly in the general
direction of Ensenada. They
hauled him aboard. The chatter of
his teeth came clearly over the put-
tering of the engine. The Pacific
off sunny southern California is icy
in February.

Juniper-Hallett explamed: “I just
remembered that he was with me in
the Crypt the night we made our
raid, and recognized several of the
Ayesmy members. He’d have made
trouble for them if we’d left him
here.”

“Good work, boy,” said Duke-
Holmquist.

Juniper-Hallett winced at the
“boy.” If being married didn’t make
one a full-grown man, entitled to the
respect accorded to such, what did?

He asked: “Are we safe now, sir?”

“No,” said Duke-Holmquist.
“They’ll radio their company, and
the company will appeal to the
Board of Control to order the navy
out to .stop us.”

“Then it’s useless to try to get
away?”

“We’ll see.”

Ryan climbed out of the cabin,
whither he and Damaso had taken
Lane-Walsh to change his clothes.

Juniper-Hallett a.sked him: “How do
you fit into this, sir?”

Ryan’s smooth brown face smiled,
and the wind ruffled his stiff gray
hair. He said: “I was to be a go-
between for the Ayesmy and the
Hawaiians. The Hawaiians wanted
to back the Ayesmy in upsetting the
Corporate system, because it would
end the seige of the Islands. But
they wanted somebody they could
trust, not having any agents on the
mainland. I was the only one, and
I was in a hibemlne sleep.

“Then that Stroraberg engineer
discovered the effect of strontium
bromide, and the Strombergs stole
me from the Crypt to try to get the
secret of the Hawaiians’ power
from me. It was developed back
before I went to sleep, you know.
Of course, the Stromberg en-
gineers who were also Ayesmies
knew about the theft, and ar-
ranged to have the Ayesmy rescue
me.”

“How did the Ayesmy communi-
cate with the Hawaiians? I’d think
their messages would be inter-
cepted.”

“They would have been, if they
had been sent the normal way. But
people used to communicate with
the Islands, centuries ago, by under-
sea cables, and those cables are still
there. The mainland end of one of
them is in a museum in Frisco. The
Ayesmy spliced a lead into it and
used the ancient dot-dash method.”

“What is the Hawaiian power?”

“Maxwell demons, sir,” said Ar-
nold Ryan.

“What?”

“Special bacteria. Bacteria are
the only things that can break the
second law of thermodynamics, you
know. They can, for instance, sepa-
rate levulose from fructose, though
the molecules of these sugars are

160

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

identical except that one is a miiror
image of the other. Starting with
these bacteria, the Hawaiians have
developed strains that will build up
hydrocarbons out of water and car-
bon dioxide, taking their energy di-
rectly from the heat of the solution.
So the solution gets cold, and has
to be brought back to outside tem-
peratures to keep the reaction going.
But they have the whole Pacific
Ocean to warm it up with. It’s like
putting a lump of ice in a highball,
and instead of the ice’s melting, hav-
ing the ice get colder and the high-
-ball hotter.”

Juniper-Hallett did not understand
much of this. He asked: “Then are
all these plans for breaking the Cor-
porate system finished.?”

“Not quite. The Antarctic coal
fields will run out in a couple of
years, and we’ll be able to dictate
our own terms to the Empires.
Meanwhile we’ll sit in the sun in
the Islands and take life easy.
You’ll like it, I think. We Hawaiians
haven’t such an elaborate code as the
mainlanders, but w'e stick better to
the one we have.” He shaded his
eyes. “That is, you!ll like it if we
get there alive. Here comes the
navy now,”

They all looked back toward the
mainland. The air was full of a
deep throbbing sound which grew to
the roar of one of the giant flying
boats.

The monster thundered past them,
seeming to skim the waves, though
it actually was a good thirty meters
up. A gun cracked, and a 10.5-
centimeter shell crashed in front of
them.

“That means heave to,” said
Duke-Holmquist. His red face got
redder and he shook a fist. He made
no move to stop the boat.

The machine came back on the
opposite side, between them and
Santa Catalina Island. Another
shell crashed, this time closer. It
sent up a tall finger of water, which
hung for an unreasonable time be-
fore collapsing.

Juniper-Hallett asked: “Will they
try to board us?”

“Not if I know the navy,” said
Duke-Holmquist. “They’d like a
little target practice on a live tar-
get.”

The machine banked ponderously
astern of them. This time, as it
passed, it let loose a full broadside.

“Duck!” yelled Duke-Holmquist,
doing so.

The air was suddenly full of
noises like a train wreck and six
shells hit all around them. Splin-
ters whined overhead; a couple
crashed through the yawl’s planking;
one of the columns of water top-
pled onto their deck, drenching
them.

The yawl staggered, but kept on.
The next time, Juniper-Hallett
thought, they’ll blow us to pieces.
He hugged Janet, and heard Ryan’s
voice in his ear: “Sorry we got you
kids into this — didn’t have time to
warn you — ”

The navy ship thundered past
again. Juniper-Hallett held his
breath. It was coming —

Their engine stopped with a
wheeze. Duke-Holmquist bounded
to his feet with an inhuman scream.
“They did it!” he yelled, dancing and
waving his big fists.

“Did what?” asked Juniper-Hal-
lett. Then he realized that the rum-
ble of the flying boat’s propellers
had ceased. The only sounds were
those of wind and water. He looked
over the lee gunwale to see the fly-
ing boat glide silently down to the
surface and settle like a big duck

a kilometer or two away. He re-
peated: “Did what?”

“The Hawaiians got their thing
that multiplies the terrestrial mag-
netic field turned on, so that there’s
a strip all along the coast that noth-
ing can get through but a sailboat
or rowboat. That’s what I was
wiring about from the Crypt. Now
do you see why we started out in
this little thing? Damaso! Damn
it, comes out of that cabin; the war’s
over. Fix those holes in the wood-
work. Arnold, do you know how
to get the sails up? Here, boy, take
the wheel while I’m helping Ryan.”

The deck was now sharply canted
to the brisk northeast breeze. The
sun was half below the horizon
ahead of them. When they crested
a swell, a broad highway of golden
reflection glared in their faces.

Horace Juniper-Hallett and his
wife sat bundled in sweaters and
things, their feet braced, watching
for flying fish and ducking the cold
spray. The navy flying boat was
out of sight, even from the tops of
the swells.

Janet gave up trying to wax her
nose tojfehe proper degree of shini-
nesSj'tmd turned to Juniper-Hallett.
S?he said. “Horace! I just remem-
bered my cat! My little Dolores!”

“Dolores’ll have a nice home — in
the zoo.”

She sighed. “I suppose so. Any-
way we’re alone at last, dearest.”

Juniper-Hallett looked around the
little yawl, which was very much oc-
cupied by its seven passengers. The
cabin seemed to be half full of
canned goods, and the other half
full of a morose, blanket- wrapped
Justin Lane-Walsh. Obviously
everyone would be very much in
everyone else’s hair for many days.

“Not quite, sweetheart,” Juniper-
Hallett replied. “But we shall be.
We shall be.”

THE END.

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